^ Sr PR3454.J83"f900''""""-"'™^^ ^"linliimiiiiiu °' "'^ adventures of Joseph 3 1924 014 165 686 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014165686 " Tortrait of the Duke of Marlborough Engraved by R. Cooper from Painting by Kneller EDITION DE LUXE This edition of the works of Henry Fielding, printed for subscribers only, is limited to one thousand numbered sets, of which this is CONTENTS -••-•— BOOK I. CHAPTER I. FASIS Of writing Lives in general, and particularly of Pamela ; with a word by the bye of CoUey Gibber and others 29 CHAPTER II. Of Mr. Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage, education, and great endowments; with a word or two concerning ancestors 27 CHAPTER III. Of Mr. Abraham Adams the curate, Mrs. Slipslop the chambermaid, and others 30 CHAPTER IV. What happened after their journey to London 84 CHAPTER V. The death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the affectionate and mourn- ful behavior of his widow, and the great purity of Joseph Andrews 86 CHAPTER VL How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to his sister Pamela 39 4 ■ CONTENTS. CHAPTER VIL PASB Sayings of wise men. A dialogue between the lady and her maid ; and a panegyric, or rather satire, on the passion of love, in the sublime style 43 CHAPTER VIII. In which, after some very fine writing, the history goes on, and re- lates the interview between the lady and Joseph ; where the latter hath set an example which we despair of seeing followed by his sex in this vicious age 47 CHAPTER IX. What passed beween the lady and Mrs. Slipslop ; in which we prophesy tliere are some strokes which every one will not truly comprehend at the first reading 53 CHAPTER X. Joseph writes another letter ; his transactions with Mr. Peter Pounce, etc., with his departure from Lady Booby 56 CHAPTER XL Of several new matters not expected 68 CHAPTER XII. Containing many surprising adventures which Joseph Andrews met with on the road, scarce creditable to those who have never travelled in a stage-coach 62 CHAPTER XIII. What happened to Joseph during his sickness at the inn, with the curious discourse between liim and Mr. Barnabas, tlie parson of the parish 69 CHAPTER XIT. Being very full of adventures which succeeded each other at tie inn 73 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XV. PASS Showingr 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 79 CHAPTER XVL The escape of tlie thief. Mr. Adams's disappointment. The arrival of two very extraordinary personages, and the introduc- tion of Parson Adams to Parson Barnabas 83 CHAPTER XVII. A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the bookseller, which was broke off by an unlucky accident happening in the inn, which produced a dialogue between Mrs. Tow-wouse and her maid of no gentle kind 93 CHAPTER XVIII. The history of Betty the chambermaid, and an account of what occasioned the violent scene in the preceding chapter 99 BOOK II. CHAPTER L Of divisions in authors 103 CHAPTER II. A surprising instance of Mr. Adams's short memory, with the un. fortnnate consequences which it brought on Joseph 106 CHAPTER m. The opinion of two lawyers concerning the same gentleman, with Mr. Adams's inquiry into the religion of his host Ill 6 CONTENTS. CHAPTER IV. PAsa The history of Leonora, or the unfortunate jilt .....!..•<• 118 CHAPTER V. A dreadful quarrel which happened at the inn where the company dined, with its bloody consequences to Mr. Adams 139 CHAPTER VL Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt 145 CHAPTER VII. A very short chapter, in which Parson Adams went a great way ... 150 CHAPTER VIII. A notable dissertation by Mr. Abraham Adams ; wherein that gen- tleman appears in a political light 153 CHAPTER IX. In which the gentleman descants on bravery and heroic virtue, till an unlucky accident puts an end to the discourse 156 CHAPTER X. Giving an account of the strange catastrophe of the preceding ad- venture, which drew poor Adams into fresh calamities ; and who the woman was who owed the preservation of her cbastity to his victorious arm 162 CHAPTER XI. What liappened to them while before the justice. A chapter very full of learning 167 CHAPTER Xn. A very delightful adventure, as well to the persons concerned as to the good-natured reader 175 CONTENTS. 7 CHAPTER Xm. PAGE A dissertation concerning high people and low people, with Mrs. Slipslop's departure in no very good temper of mind, and the evil plight in which she left Adams and his company 179 CHAPTER XrV. An interview between Parson Adams and Parson Trulliber. 186 CHAPTER XV. An adventure the consequence of a new instance which Parson Adams gave of his forgetfulness 193 CHAPTER XVI. A very curious adventure, in which Mr. Adams gave a much greater instance of the honest simplicity of his heart, than of his experience in the ways of the world. 196 CHAPTER XVII. A dialogue between Mr. Abraham Adams and his host, which, by the disagreement in their opinions, seemed to threaten an un- lucky catastrophe, had it not been timely prevented by the return of the lovers 805 BOOK III. CHAPTER I. Matter prefatory in praise of biography 313 CHAPTER II. A night-Bcene, wherein several wonderful adventures befel Adams and his fellow-travellers 317 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTER in. FAeB In which the gentleman relates the history of his life 228 CHAPTER IV. A description of Mr. Wilson's way of living. The tragical adven- ture of the dog, and other grave matters 255 CHAPTER V. A disputation on schools held on the road by Mr. Abraham Adams and Joseph ; and a discovery not unwelcome to them both. . . . 360 CHAPTER VI. Moral reflections by Joseph Andrews ; with the hunting adventure, and Parson Adams's miraculous escape . . 364 CHAPTER VII. A scene of roasting, very nicely adapted to the present taste and times 375 CHAPTER VIII. Which some readers will think too short and others too long 384 CHAPTER IX. Containing as surprising and bloody adventures as can be found in this or perhaps any other authentic history 289 CHAPTER X. A discourse between the poet and the player ; of no other use in this history but to divert the reader 293 CHAPTER XI. Containing the exhortations of Parson Adams to his friend In affliction ; calculated for the Instruction and Improvement of the reader 298 CHAPTEK Xn. More adventures, which we hope will as much please as surprise the reader 303 CONTENTS, 9 CHAPTER XIIL A curious dialogue which passed between Mr. Abraham Adams and Mr. Peter Pounce, better worth reading than all the works of Colley Cibber and many others. 309 BOOK lY. CHAPTER I. The arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at Booby -hall 313 CHAPTER II. A dialogue between Mr. Abraham Adams and Lady Booby 818 CHAPTER in. What passed between the lady and lawyer Scout 331 CHAPTER IV A short chapter, but very full of matter ; particularly the arrival of Mr. Booby and his lady 334 CHAPTER V. Containing justice business ; curious precedents of depositions, and other matters necessary to be perused by all justices of the peace and their clerks 326 CHAPTER VI Of which you are desired to read no more than you like 333 CHAPTER VIL Philosophical reflections, the like not to be found in ^ny light French romance. Mr. Booby's grave advice to /Joseph, and Fanny's encounter with a beau. . . .T. ■^..r-^-^.r^-^- 339 / 10 CONTENTS. CHAPTER Vra. PASS A diflconrae which happened between Mr. Adams, Mrs. Adams, Joseph, and Fanny ; with some behavior of Mr. Adams which will be called by some few readers very low, absurd, and un- natural • 348 CHAPTER IX. A visit which the polite Lady Booby and her polite friend paid to the parson 354 CHAPTER X The history of two friends, which may aflfbrd an useful lesson to all those persons who happen to take up their residence in married families • • • • 358 CHAPTER XI. In which the history is continued , 365 CHAPTER XII. Where the good-natured reader will see something which will give him no great pleasure 369 CHAPTER XIII. The history, returning to the Lady Booby, gives some account of the terrible conflict in her breast between love and pride ; with what happened on the present discovery 871 CHAPTER XIV. Containing several curious night-adventures, in which Mr. Adams fell into many hair-breadth 'scapes, partly owing to his good- ness, and partly to his inadvertency 876 CHAPTER XV. The arrival of Gaffar and Gammar Andrews, with another person not much expected ; and a perfect solution of the difficulties raised by the pedlar , 888 CHAPTER XVL More adventm the reader. . in which this true history is brought to a happy THE HISTORY OP THE /^DYENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS, AND HIS FRIEND MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS, PREFACE. As it is possible the mere English reader may have a different idea of romance with the author of these little * volumes, and may consequently expect a kind of entertain- ment 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 re- member to have seen hitherto attempted in our language. The Epic, as well as t he D bama, is divided into tragedy and- comedyT 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 beats to tragedy. And perhaps that we have no more instances of it among the writers of antiquity is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its imitators equally with the other poems of this great original. And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I * Joseph Andrews was originally published in 2 vols. 12ma. 18 PREFA CE. will not scrapie 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 of an epic poem, namely, metre, yet, when any kind of writing contains all its other parts, such as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and dic- tion, and is deficient in metre only, it seems, I think, reasonable to refer it to the epic ; at least as no critic hath thought proper to range it under any other head, or to as- sign it a particular name to itself. Thus the Telemachus of the Archbishop of Cambray ap- pears to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer ; indeed, it is much fairer and more reasonable to give it a name common with that species from which it differs only in a single instance, than to confound it with those which it resembles in no other — siTch as those vol- aminoiis works, commonly called Eomances, namely, Cleha, Cleopatra, Astrsea, Cassandra, the Grand Cyras, and innumerable others, which contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or entertainment. Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in prose ; dif- fering from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy : its action being more extended and comprehensive ; containing a much larger circle of incidents, and introducing a greater variety of characters. It differs from the serious romance, in its fable and action, in this : that as in the one these are grave and solemn, so in the other they are Ught and ridiculous : it differs in its characters by introducing per- sons of inferior rank, and consequently of inferior man- ners, whereas the grave romance sets the highest before us ; lastly, in its sentiments and diction, by preserving the ludicrous instead of the sublime.' In the diction, I think, burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted ; of which many instances will occur in this work, as in the descrip- tion of the battles, and some other places, not necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader, for whose entertain- PREFACE. 19 ment those parodies or birrlesque imitations are chiefly cal- culated. But, though we have sometimes admitted this in our dic- tion, we have carefully excluded it from our sentiments and characters ; for there it is never properly introduced, un- less in writings of the burlesqae kind, which this is not in- tended to be. Indeed, no two species of writing can differ more -widely than the comic and the burlesque ; for as the latter. is ever the exhibition of what is monstrous and unnat' ural, and where our delight, if we- _exainine i t, arises from the surprising absurdity, as in appropriating the manners of the highest to the lowest, or e.co»t;ersa,rzaa-in the former we should ever .confine ourselves-strictly to nature, from the just imitation of which will tiow all the pleasure we can this way convey to a sensible reader. And perhaps there is one reason why a comic writer should of all others be the least excused for deviating from nature, since it may not be always so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the admirable ; but life everywhere furnishes an ac- curate observer with the ridiculous. I have hinted this Kttle concerning burlesque, because I have often heard that name given to performances which have been truly of the comic kind, from the author's having sometimes admitted it in his diction only ; which, as it is the dress of poetry, doth, like the dress of men, es- tablish characters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man), in vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excellences : but surely a certain drollery in style, where characters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the bvirlesque than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where everyJhiBg-else-is jnaanand ToWf-ean entitle^ny performance to -the appellation of the true sublime. And T apprehend my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, There is no 20 PEEFA CE. such thing to be foiind 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 Kttle success on the stage this way, but rather as it contributes more to exqui- site mirth and laughter than any other ; and these are prob- ably more wholesome physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge away spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is generally imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, whether the same companies are not found more full of good-humor 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 lec- ture. But to illustrate all this by another science in which per- haps we shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly, let us examine the works of a comic history painter, with those performances whicn the Itahans call Caricatura, where we shall find the true excellence of the former to consist in the exactest copying of nature ; insomuch that a judicious eye instantly rejects any thing outre, any liberty which the painter hath taken with the features of that alma Tnater : whereas in the Caricatura we allow all license : its aim is to exhibit monsters, not men ; and all distortions and exag- gerations whatever are within its proper province. Now, what Caricatura is in painting, Burlesque is in writing ; and in the same manner the comic writer and painter correlate to each other. And here I shall observe that as in the former the painter seems to have the advan- tage, so it is in the latter infinitely on the side of the wri- ter ; for the Monstrous is much easier to paint than de- scribe, and the Ridiculous to describe than paint. And though perhaps this latter species doth not in either science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other, yet it will be owned, I believe, that a more rational and useful pleasure arises to us from it. He who should PREFA CE. 21 call the ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter, W( >uld, in my opinion, do him very little honor ; for sure it is much easier, much less the subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose, or any other featm-e, of a preposterous size, or to expose him in some absurd or monstrous attitude, j than to express the affectioris of men on canvas. It hath been thought a vast commendation of a painter 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 before said, falls within my province in the present work. Nor will some explanation of this word be thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers how wonderfully it hath been mistaken, even by writers who have professed it : for to what but such a mistake can we attribute the many attempts to ridicule the blackest villanies, and, what is yet worse, the most dreadful calamities ? What could exceed the ab- surdity of an author who should write the comedy of Nero, with the merry incident of ripping up his mother's belly ? or what would give a gi'eater shock to humanity than an at- tempt to expose the miseries of poverty and distress to ridi- cule ? And yet the reader wiU not want much learning to suggest such instances to himself. Besides, it may seem remarkable that Aristotle, who is so fond and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define the Ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he hath remarked that villany is not its object : but he hath not, as I remember, positively asserted what is. Nor doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath writ- ten a treatise on tliis subject, though he shows us many species of it, once trace it to its fountain. The only source of the true Ridiculous (as- it appears to -meTis ajfectatijjir; " But though it arises from one spring Hogiiy, when we consider the infinite streams into which this aranehes, we shall presently cease to admire at the 22 PREFA CE. copiotis,rfield it affords to an observer. Now, affectation proceeds from one of these two causes, vanity or hypocrisy : -^:£or as vanity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase applause, so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavor to avoid ceiTsui'e, by concealing oui- vices under an appear- ance 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 differ- ent motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their opera- tions : for, indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to truth than the other, as it hath not that violent repugaauey of nature to struggle with which that of the ^Jypocrit&^hath. It may be likewise noted that affectation doth not imply an absolute negation of those qualities which are affected ; and, therefoi-e, though, when it pro- ceeds from hypocrisy, it be nearly allied to deceit ; yet when it comes from vanity only, it partakes 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 woiild 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 Ridicu- lous, which always strikes the reader with surprise and pleasure ; and that in a higher and stronger degi'ee when the affectation arises from hypocrisy than when from vanity ; for to discover any one to be the exact reverse of what he affects is more sui^prising, and consequently more ridiculous, than to find liim a little deficient in the quality he desires the reputation of. I might observe that our Ben Jonson, who of all men underetood the Ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used the hyjjocritical affectation. Now, from affectation only, the misfortunes and cda6ii- \ PREFA CE. 23 ties of life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule. Surely he hath a veiy ill-framed mind who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty, as ridicu- lous in themselves : nor do 1 believe any man living, who meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is struck with an idea of the Ridiculous from it ; but if he should see the same figure descend from his coach and six, or bolt fromhis chair with his hat under his arm, he would then begin to laugh, and with justice. In the same man- ner, were we to enter a poor house and behold a wretched family shivering with cold and languishing with hunger, it would not incline us to laughter (at least we must have very diabolical natures if it would) ; but should we discover there a grate, instead of coals, adorned with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on the sideboard, or any other affectation of riches and finery, either on their persons or in their furni- ture, we might then indeed be excused for ridiculing so fantastical an appearance. Much less are natural imperfec- tions the object of derision ; but when ugliness aims at the applause of beauty, or lameness endeavors to display agihty, it is then that these unfortunate circumstances, which at first moved our compassion, tend only to raise our mirth. The poet carries this very far : None are for being what they are in fault. But for not being what they would be thought. Where if the metre would suffer the word Ridiculous to close the first line, the thought would be rather more proper. Great vises are-the proper objects of our detesta- tion^_sm£ller jaults, of our pityj but affectation appears to iy mejhe only true source of the Ridiculous. But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against my own rules introduced vices, ^nd of a very black kind, into this work. To which I shall answer : first, that it is very difficult to pursue a series of human actions, and keep clear from them. Secondly, that the vices to be found here are rather the accidental consequences of some 34 PREFA CM 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 pro- ductions 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 afiirmed to be hitherto unattempted in our language, I shall leave to my good-natm-ed reader to apply my piece to my observations, and will detain him no longer than with a word concerning the characters in this work. And here I solemnly protest I have no intention to viUfy or asperse any one ; for though every tiling is copied from the book of nature, and scarce a character or action pro- duced which I have not taken from my own observations and experience, yet I have used the utmost care to obscure the persons by such different circumstances, degrees, and colors, that it will be impossible to guess at them with any degree of certainty ; and if it ever happens otherwise, it is only where the failure characterized is so minute that it is a 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 simphc- ity ; and as the goodness of his heart will recommend him to the good-natured, so I hope it will excuse me to the gen- tlemen of his cloth, for whom, while they are worthy of their sacred order, no man can possibly have a greater re- spect. 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 inch- nations. BOOK I. CHAPTEK I. OF WEiriNG LIVES m GENERAL, AND PAETICtTLAKLT OF PA- MELA ; WITH A WOED BY THE BT OF COLLET CIBBEK 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 blamable, it is more strongly so in what is amiable and praiseworthy. Here emulation most effectually operates upon us, and inspires our imitation in an irresistible manner. A good man therefore is a stand- ing lesson to all his acquaintance, and of far greater use in that narrow circle than a good book. But as it often happens that the best men are but little known, and consequently cannot extend the usefulness of their examples a great way, the writer may be called in aid to spread their history farther, and to present the amiable pictures to those who have not the happiness of knowing the originals ; and so, by communicating such valuable pat- terns to the world, he may perhaps do a more extensive ser- vice to mankind than the person whose life originally af- forded the pattern. In this light I have always regarded those biographers who have recorded the actions of great and worthy persons of both sexes. Not to mention those ancient writers which of late days are little read, being written in obsolete, and, as they are generally thought, unintelligible languages, such as Plutarch, Nepos, and others which I heard of in my 26 THE Al) VENTURES OF youth ; our own language affords many of excellent use and instruction, finely calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth, and very easy to be comprehended by persons of mod- erate capacity. Such as the history of John the Great, who, by his brave and heroic actions against men of large and athletic bodies, obtained the glorious appellation of the Giant-killer ; that of an earl of "Warwick, whose Christian name was Guy ; the lives of Argalus and Parthenia ; and above all, the history of those seven worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In all these delight is mixed with instruction, and the reader is almost as much improved as entertained. But I pass by these and many others to mention two books lately published, which represent an admirable pat- tern 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 bor- rows his lights, as the common method is, from authentic papers and records. The reader, I beheve, already conjec- tures, I mean the lives of Mr. Colley Gibber and of Mrs. Pamela Andrews. How artfully doth the former, by insinu- ating that he escaped being promoted to the highest sta- tions in Church and State, teach us a contempt of worldly grandeur ! how strongly doth he inculcate an absolute sub- mission 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 subsequent editions of that work, that it would be here a needless repetition. The authentic history with which I now present the public is an JOSEPH AN'DREWS. 27 instance of the great good that book is likely to do, and of the prevalence of example which I have just observed : since it will appear that it was by keeping the excellent pat- tern 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 temptations. I shall only add that this character of male chastity, though doubtless as desirable and becoming 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 ME. JOSEPH ANDREWS, HIS BIETH, PAEBNTAGE, EDUCA- TION, AND GEEAT ENDOWMENTS ; WITH A WOED OK TWO CONCEENING ANCESTOES. Me. Joseph Andeews, the hero of our ensuing history, was esteemed to be the only son of GafEar and Gammer Andrews, and brother to the illustrious Pamela, whose vir- tue is at present so famous. As to his ancestors, we have searched with great diligence, but little success, being un- able to trace them farther than his great-grandfather, who, as an elderly person in the parish, remembers to have heard his father say, was an excellent cudgel-player. Whether he had any ancestors before this, we must leave to the opin- ion of our curious reader, finding nothing of sufficient cer- tainty to rely on. However, we cannot omit inserting an epitaph which an ingenious friend of ours hath communi- cated : 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 Shall shortly be as sad as he is now. 28 THE ADVENTURES OF The words are almost out of the stone ^%dth antiquity. Bat it is needless to observe that Andrew here is writ without an s, and is, besides, a Christian name. My friend, more- over, conjectures this to have been the founder of that sect of laughing philosophers since called Merry-andrews. To waive, therefore, a circumstance, which, though men- tioned in conformity to the exact rules of biography, is not greatly material, I proceed to things of more consequence. Indeed, it is sufficiently certain that he had as many ances- tors as the best man living, and, perhaps, if we look five or six hundred years backwards, might be related to some per- sons of very great figure at present, whose ancestors within half the last century are buried in as great obscurity. But suppose, for argument's sake, we should admit that he had no ancestors at all, but had sprung up, according to the modern phrase, out of a dunghill, as the Athenians pre- tended they themselves did from the earth, would not this autokopros* have been justly entitled to all the praise arising from his own virtues ? "Would it not be hard that a man who hath no ancestors should therefore be rendered incapable of acquiring honor, when we see so many who have no virtues enjoying the honor of their forefathers ? At ten years old (by which time his education was advanced to writing and reading) he was bound an apprentice, accord- ing to the statute, to Sir Thomas Booby, an uncle of Mr. Booby's by the father's side. Sir Thomas having then an estate in his own hands, the young Andrews was at first employed in what in the country they call keeping birds. His office was to perform the part the ancients assigned to the god Priapus, which deity the modems call by the name of Jack o' Lent ; but his voice being so extremely musical that it rather allured the birds than terrified them, he was soon transplanted from the fields into the dog-kennel, where he was placed under the huntsman, and made what the * In English, sprung from a dunghill. JOSEPH AN^DBEWS. 29 sportsman term a whipper-in. For this place Hkewise the sweetness of his Toice disqualified him, the dogs preferring the melody of his chiding to all the alluring notes of the huntsman, who soon became so incensed at it that he de- sired Sir Thomas to provide otherwise for him, and con- stantly laid every fault the dogs were at to the account of the poor boy, who was now transplanted to the stable. Here he soon gave proofs of strength and agility beyond his years, and constanly 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 neighboring gentlemen frequently solicited the knight to permit little Joey (for so he was called) to ride their matches. The best gamesters, before they laid their money, always inquired which horse little Joey was to ride ; and the bets were rather proportioned by the rider than by the horse himself, especially after' he had scornfully refused a considerable bribe to play booty on such an occasion. This extremely raised his character, and so pleased the Lady Booby that she desired to have him (being now seventeen years of age) for her own footboy. Joey was now preferred from the stable to attend on his lady, to go on 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 Di- vine service that it recommended him to the notice of Mr. Abraham Adams, the curate, who took an opportunity one day, as he was drinking a cup of ale in Sir Thomas's kitchen, to ask the young man several questions concerning religion, with his answers to which he was wonderfully pleased. 30 THE ADVENTITRES OF CHAPTER in. OF ME. ABRAHAM ADAMS THE CUEATE, MES. SLIPSLOP THE CHAMBEEMAID, AND OTHERS. Me . Abraham Adams w as an excellent scholar. He was a perfect master of the Greek and Latin languages, to which he added a great share of knowledge in the Oriental tongues, and could read and translate French, Italian, and Spanish. He had applied many years to the most severe study, and had treasured up a fund of learning rarely to be met with in a 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 in- fant just entered into it could possibly be. As he had never any intention to deceive, so he never suspected such a design in others. He was generous, friendly, and brave to an excess ; but simplicity was his characte ristic : he did no more than Mr. Oolley Gibber apprehend any such pas- sions as malice and envy to exist in mankind, which was indeed less remarkable in a country parson than in a gentle- man who hath passed his life behind the scenes — a place which hath been seldom thought the school of innocence^ and where a very little observation would have convinced the great apologist that those passions have a real existence in the human mind. His virtue, and his other qualifications, as they rendered him equal to his office, so they made him an agreeable and valuable companion, and had so much endeared and well- recommended him to a bishop, that at the age of fifty he was provided with a handsome income of twenty-three pounds a-year, which, however, he could not make any great figure with, because he lived in a dear country, and was a little incumbered with a wife and six childrea. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 31 It was this gentleman, who, having, as I have said, ob- served the singular devotion of young Andrews, had found means to question him concerning several particulars ; as, how many books there were in the New Testament ; which were they ? how many chapters they contained ? and such like : to all which Mr. Adams privately said, he answered much better than Sir Thomas, or two other neighboring justices of the peace could probably have done. Mr. Adams was wonderfully solicitous to know at what time, and by what opportunity, the youth became acquaint- ed 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 had not interest enough to get him into a charity school, because a cousin of his father's landlord did not vote on the right side for a churchwarden in a borough town, yet had been himself at the expense of sixpence a week for his learning. He told him, likewise, that ever since he was in Sir Thomas's family he had employed all his hours of leisure in reading good books ; that he had read the Bible, the "Whole Duty of Man, and Thomas a Kempis ; and that, as often as he could, without being perceived, he had studied a great book which lay open in the hall win- dow, 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 com ran away down a hill with all the trees upon it, and covered another man's meadow." This sufficiently assured Mr. Adams that he good book meant could be no other than Baker's Chronicle. The curate, surprised to find such instances of industry and application in a young man who had never met with the least encouragement, asked him, If he did not extremely regret the want of a liberal education, and the not having been born of parents who might have indulged his talents and desire of knowledge ? To which he answered. " He hoped he had profited somewhat better from the books he 32 TSE AD VENTURES OF 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 endeavor to improve his talent, which was aU required of him, but not repine at his own lot, nor envy those of his betters." " Well said, my lad," repHed the curate ; " and I wish some who have read many more good books, nay, and some who have writ- ten 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 Thomas was too apt to estimate men merely by their dress or for- tune ; and my lady was a woman of gayety, who had been blessed with a town education, and never spoke of any of her country neighbors by any other appellation than that of the brutes. They both regarded the curate as a kind of domestic only, belonging to the parson of the parish, who was at this time at variance with the knight ; for the par- son had for many years lived in a constant state of civil war, or, which is perhaps as bad, of ciyil law, with Sir Thomas himself and the tenants of his manor. The foun- dation of this quarrel was a modus, by setting which aside an advantage of several shillings per annuin would have accured to the rector ; but he had not yet been able to ac- comphsh his purpose, and had reaped hitherto nothing bet- ter from the suits than the pleasure (which he used indeed frequently to say was no small one) of reflecting that he had utterly undone many of the poor tenants, though he had at the same time greatly impoverished himself. Mrs. Slipsl op, the waiting-gentlewoman, being herself the daughter of a curate, preserved some respect for Adams : she professed great regard for his learning, and would fre- quently dispute with him on points of theology ; but always insisted on a deference to be paid to her understanding, as she had been frequently at London, and knew more of the world than a country parson could pretend to. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 33 She had in these disputes a particular advantage over Adams : for she was a mighty afEecter of hard words, which she used in such a manner that the parson, who durst not offend her by calling her words in question, was frequently at some loss to guess her meaning, and would have been much less puzzled by an Arabian manuscript. Adams therefore took an opportunity one day, after a pretty long discourse with her on the essence (or, as she pleased to term it, the incense) of matter, to mention the case of young Andrews, desiring her to recommend him to her lady as a youth very susceptible of learning, and one whose instruction in Latin he would himself undertake, by which means he might be quaHfied 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 man- ner. He therefore desired that the boy might be left behind under his care. " La ! Mr. Adams," said Mrs. Shpslop, " do you think my lady will suffer any preambles about any such matter ? She is going to London very concisely, and I am confidous would not leave Joey behind her on any account ; for he is one of the genteelest young fellows you may see in a sum- mer's day ; and I am confidous she would as soon think of pai'ting with a pair of her gray mares, for she values her- self as much on one as the other. " Adams' would have in- terrupted, but she proceeded : " And why is Latin more necessitous for a footmai#than a gentleman ? It is very proper that you clergymen must learn it, because you can't preach without it ; but I have heard gentlemen say in Lon- don that it is fit for nobody else. I am confidous my lady would be angry with me for mentioning it, and I shall draw myself into no such delemy. " At which words her lady's bell rung, and Mr. Adams was forced to retire ; nor could he gain a second opportunity with her before their London journey, which happened a few days afterwards. 34 THE AD VENTURES OF However, Andrews behaved very thankfully and gratefully to him for his intended kindness, which he told him he never would forget, and at the same time received from the good man many admonitions concerning the regulation of his future conduct, and his perseverance in innocence and industry. CHAPTER lY. WHAT HAPPENED ATTEE THEIE JOTrENET TO LONDON. No sooner was young Andrews arrived at London than he began to scrape an acquaintance with his party-colored brethren, who endeavored to make him despise his former course of life. His hair was cut after the newest fashion, and became his chief care ; he went abroad with it all the morning in papers, and dressed it out in the afternoon. They could not, however, teach him to game, swear, drink, nor any other genteel vice the town abounded with. He ap- plied most of his leisure houi's to music, in which he greatly improved himself, and became so perfect a connoisseur in that art that he led the opinion of all the other footmen at an opera, and they never condemned or applauded a sin- gle song contrary to his approbation or dislike. He was a little too forward in riots at the playhouses and assembhes ; and when he attended his lady at church (which was but sel- dom) he behaved with less seemijig devotion than formerly ; however, if he was outwardly a pretty fellow, his morals re- mained entirely uncornipted, 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 kingdom, but that it was pity he wanted spirit, began now to find that fault no longer ; on the contrary, she was frequently heard JOSEPH ANDREWS. 35 to cry out, " Aye, there is some life in this fellow." She plainly saw the effects which the town air hath on the sober- est 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 stepped 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 free- doms which women of figure may permit without the least sully of their virtue. But though their virtue remains unsullied, yet now and then some small arrows will glance on the shadow of it, their reputation ; and so it fell out to Lady Booby, who happened to be walking arm-in-arm with Joey one morning in Hyde Park, when Lady Tittle and L ady Tattle came ac- cidentally by in their coach. " Bless me," says Lady Tit- tle, "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 as- sure you : is it possible you should not have heard it? The whole town hath known it this half-year." The conse- quence of this interview was a whisper through a hundred visits, which were separately performed by the two ladies* the same afternoon, and might have had a mischievous effect, had it not been stopped by two fresh reputations which were published the day afterwards, and engrossed the whole talk of the town. But, whatever opinion or suspicion the scandalous in- * It may seem an absurdity that Tattle should visit, as she actually did, to spread a known scandal ; but the reader may reconcile this by supposing, with me, that, notwithstanding what she says, this was he»' first acquaintance with it. 36 THE AB VENTURES OF clination of defamers might entertain of Lady Booby's in. nocent freedoms, it is certain they made no impression on young Andrews, who never offered to encroach beyond the liberties which his lady allowed him — a behavior which she imputed to the violent respect he preserved for her, and which served only to heighten a something she began to conceive, aud which the next chapter will open a Httle farther. CHAPTEK V. THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS BOOBY, WITH THE AFFECTIONATE AND MOURNFUL BEHAVIOR OF HIS WIDOW, AND THE GREAT PURITY OF JOSEPH ANDREWS. At this time an accident happened which put a stop to those agreeable walks, which probably would have soon puffed up the cheeks of Fame, and caused her to blow her brazen trumpet through the town ; and this was no other than the death of Sir Thomas Booby, who, departing this life, left his disconsolate lady confined to her house as closely as if she herself had been attacked by some violent disease. During the first six days the poor lady admitted none 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 Jo- seph, 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 confusion, it was time enough for one so young as himself to think on such things. " As young as you are," replied the lady, " I am convinced you are no stranger to that passion. Come, Joey," says she, " teU me truly, who is the happy gir) whose eyes have made a conc[\iest of you ?" Joseph re- r" "WALKING AEM-IN-ABM WITH JOET." JOSEPH: ANDREWS. 37 turned that all the women he had ever seen were equally indifferent to him. " O then," said the lady, " you are a general lover. Indeed, you handsome fellows, like hand- some women, are very long and difficult in fixing ; but yet you shall never persuade me that your heart is so insuscepti- ble of affection ; I rather impute what you say to your se- crecy, a very commendable quality, and what I am far from being angry with you for. Nothing can be more unworthy in a yoimg man than to betray any intimacies with the ladies." " Ladies ! madam," said Joseph, " I am sure I never had the impudence to think of any that deserve that name." "Don't pretend to too much modesty," said she, " for that sometimes may be impertinent : but pray answer me this question. Suppose a lady should happen to like you : suppose she should prefer you to all your sex, and admit you to the same familiarities as you might have hoped for if you had been born her equal, are you cer- tain that no vanity could tempt you to discover her ? An- swer me- honestly, Joseph ; have you so much more sense, and so much more virtue, than you handsome yomig fel- lows generally have, who make no scruple of sacrificing our dear reputation to your pride, without considering tlie great obligation we lay on you by our condescension and confidence? Can you keep a secret, my Joey?" "Ma- dam," says he, "I hope your ladyship can't tax me with ever betraying the secrets of the family ; and I hope, if you was to turn me away, I might have that character of you." " I don't intend to turn you away, Joey," said she, and sighed ; " I am afraid it is not in my power." She then raised herself a little in her bed, and discovered one of the whitest necks that ever was seen ; at which Joseph blushed. " La !" says she, in an affected surprise, " what am I doing ? I have trusted myself with a man alone, naked in bed ; suppose you should have any wicked inten- tions upon my honor, how should I defend myself ?" Jo- 38 TEE ADVENTURES OF seph protested that he never had the least evil design against her. " No," says she, " perhaps yon may not caU your designs wicked; and perhaps they are not so." He swore they were not. "Ton misunderstand me," says she ; "I mean if they were against my honor, they may not be wicked ; bnt the world calls them so. But then, say you, the world will never know any thing of the mat- ter ; yet would not that be trusting to your secrecy? Must not my reputation be then in your power? "Would yon not then be my master?" Joseph begged her ladyship to be comforted; for that he would never imagine the least wicked thing against her, and that he had rather die a thou- sand deaths than give her any reason to suspect him. "Yes," said she, "I must have reason to suspect you. Are you not a man? and, without vanity, I may pretend to some charms. But perhaps you may fear I should prose- cute you ; indeed I hope you do ; and yet heaven knows I would never have the confidence to appear before a court of justice ; and you know, Joey, I am of a forgiving tem- per. Tell me, Joey, don't you think I should forgive you?" " Indeed, madam," says Joseph, "I wiU never do any thing to disoblige your ladyship. " " How, ' ' says she, "do you think it would not disoblige me then? Do you think I would willingly suffer you?" "I don't under- stand you, madam," says Joseph. "Don't you?" said she; "then you are either a fool, or pretend to be so; I find I was mistaken in you. So get you downstairs, and never let me see your face again; your pretended inno- cence cannot impose on me. " " Madam, ' ' said Joseph, ' ' I would not have your ladyship think any evil of me. I have always endeavored to be a dutiful servant both to you and my master." " O thou villain!" answered my lady, " why didst thou mention the name of that dear man, un- less to torment me, to bring his precious memory to my mind?" (And thea she burst into a fit of tears.) "Get JOSEPH ANDREWS. 39 thee from my sight ! I shall never endure thee more. " At which words she turned away from him, and Joseph reti'eated from the room in a most disconsolate condition, and writ that letter which the reader will find iu the next chapter. CHAPTER VI. HOW JOSEPH AUDEEWS WEFT A LETTER TO HIS SISTEB PAMELA. " To Mrs. Pwmela Andrews, living with Squire Booby. " Deae Sistee : Since I received your letter of your good lady's death, we have had a misfortune of the same kind in our family. My worthy master. Sir Thomas, died about four days ago ; and, what is worse, my poor lady is certainly gone distracted. None of the servants expected her to take it so to heart, because they quarrelled almost every day of their lives : but no more of that, because you know, Pamela, I never loved to tell the secrets of my master's family ; but to be sure you must have known they never loved one another ; and I have heard her ladyship wish his honor dead above a thousand lives ; but nobody knows what it is to lose a friend till they have lost him. " Don't tell anybody what I write, because 1 should not care to have folks say I discover what passes in our family ; but if it had not been so great a lady, 1 should have thought she had had a mind to me. Dear Pamela, don't teU anybody ; but she ordered me to sit down by her bed- side when she was naked in bed ; and she held my hand, and talked exactly as a lady does to her sweetheart in a stage-play, which I have seen in Covent Garden, while she wanted him to be no better than he should be. " If madam be mad, I shall not care for staying long in the family ; so I heartily wish you could get me a place, 40 TSE ADVENTURES OF eitlier at the squire's, or some other neighboring gentle- man's, unless it be true that you are going to be married to Parson "Williams, as folks talk, and then I should be very willing to be his clerk, for which you know 1 am qualified, being able to read and to set a psalm. " I fancy I shall be discharged s^ery soon ; and the mo- ment I am, unless I hear from you, I shall return to my old master's countiy-seat, if it be only to see Parson Adams, who is the best man in the world. London is a bad place, and there is so little good fellowship that the next-door neighbors don't know one another. Pray give my service to all friends that inquire for me. So I rest, " Your loving brother, Joseph Akdeews." As soon as Joseph had sealed and directed this letter he walked downstairs, where he met Mrs_Slij2slop, Avith whom we shall take this opportunity to bring the reader a little better acquainted. She was a maiden gentlewoman of about forty-five years of age, who, having made a small slip in her youth, had continued a good maid ever since. 'She was not at this time remarkably handsome, being very short, and rather too coi-pulent in body, and somewhat red, with the addition of pimples in the face. Her nose was Hke- wise rather too large, and her eyes too little ; nor did she resemble a cow so much in her breath as in two brown globes which she carried before her ; one of her legs was also a httle shorter than the other, which occasioned her to hmp as she walked. This fair creature had long cast the eyes of affection on Joseph, in which she had not met with quite so good success as she probably wished, though, be- sides the allurements of her native charms, she had given him tea, sweetmeats, wine, and many other delicacies, of which, by keeping the keys, she had the absolute command. Joseph, however, had not returned the least gratitude to all JOSEPH ANDREWS. 41 these favore, not even so much as a kiss ; thongh I woTild not insinuate she was so easily to be satisfied ; for surely then he would have been highly blamable. The truth is, she was arrived at an age when she thought she might in- dulge herself in any liberties with a man without the danger of bringing a third person into the world to betray them. She imagined that by so long a self-denial she had not only made amends for the small slip of her youth above hinted at, but had likewise laid up a quantity of merit to excuse any future failings. In a word, she re- solved to give a loose to her amorous incUnations, and to pay off the debt of pleasure which she found she owed herself as fast as possible. With these charms of person, and in this disposition of mind, she encountered poor Joseph at the bottom of the stairs, and asked him if he would drink a glass of some- thing good this morning. Joseph, whose spirits were not a Kttle cast down, very readily and thankfully accepted the ofEer ; and together they went into a closet, where, having delivered him a full glass of ratafia, and desired him to sit down, Mrs. Slipslop thus began : " Sure nothing can be a more simple contract in a wo- man than to place her affections on a boy. If I had ever thought it would have been my fate, I should have wished to die a thousand deaths rather than live to see that day. If we Hke a man, the lightest hint sophisticates. Whereas a boy proposes upon us to break through all the regulations of modesty before we can make any oppression upon him." Joseph, who did not understand a word she said, answered, " Yes, madam." " Yes, madam !" rephed Mrs. Slipslop with some warmth, " do you intend to result my passion ? Is it not enough, ungrateful as you are, to make no return to all the favors I have done you ; but you must treat me with ironing ? Barbarous monster ! how have I deserved that my passion shoidd be resulted and treated with iron- 42 THE ADVENTURES OF ing ?" " Madam," answered Joseph, " I don't understand your hard words ; but I . am certain you have no occasion to call me ungrateful, for, so far from intending you any wrong, I have always loved you as well as if you had been my own mother." " How, sirrah ?" says Mrs. Slipslop in a rage ; " your own mother ? Do you assinuate that I am old enough to be your mother ? I don't know what a strip- ling may tliink, but I believe a man would refer me to any green-sickness silly girl whatsomdever : but I ought to de- spise you rather than be angry with you for referring the conversation of girls to that of a woman of sense." " Madam," says Joseph, " I am sure I have always valued the honor you did me by your conversation, for I know you are a woman of learning." " Yes, but, Joseph," said she, a little softened by the compliment to her learning, " if you had a value> for me, you certainly would have found some method of showing it me ; for I am convicted you must see the value I have for you. Yes, Joseph, my eyes, whether I would or no, must have declared a passion I cannot conquer. Oh !. Joseph !" As when a hungry tigress, who long has traversed the woods in fruitless search, sees within the reach of her claws a lamb, she prepares to leap on her prey ; or as a vo- racious pike of immense size surveys through the liquid element a roach or gudgeon, which cannot escape her jaws, opens them wide to swallow the little fish, so did Mrs. Slip- slop prepare to lay her violent amorous hands on the poor Joseph, when luckily her mistress's bell rung, and de- livered the intended martyr from her clutches. She was obliged to leave him abruptly, and to defer the execution of her purpose till some other time. "We shall therefore re- turn to the Lady Booby, and give our reader some account of her behavior after she was left by Joseph in a temper of miud not greatly different from that of the inflamed Slipslop. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 43 CHAPTER VII. SAYINGS OF WISE MEN. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE LADY AND HEE MAID ; AND A PANEGYEIO, OE EATHEE SATIEE, ON THE PASSION OF LOVE, IN THE SUBLIME STYLE. It is the observation of some ancient sage, whose name I have forgot, that passions operate differently on the human mind, as diseases on the body, in proportion to the strength or weakness, soundness or rottenness, of the one and the other. 'We hope, therefore, a judicious reader will give himself some pains to observe, what we have so greatly labored to describe, the different operations of this passion of love in the gentle and cultivated mind of the Lady Booby, from those which it effected in the less polished and coarser dis- position of Mrs. Slipslop. Another philosopher, whose name also at present escapes my memory, hath somewhere said that resolutions taken in the absenc e of the beloved object are very apt to vaStsfa in its presence ; on both which wise sayings the following cEaptemiay serve as a comment. No sooner had Joseph left the room in the manner we have before related than the lady, enraged at her disap- pointment, began to reflect with severity on her conduct. Her love was now changed to disdain, which pride assisted to torment her. She despised herself for the meanness of her passion, and Joseph for its ill success. However, she had now got the better of it in her own opinion, and de- termined immediately to dismiss the object. After much tossing and turning in her bed, and many soliloquies, wliich, if we had no better matter for our reader we would give him, she at last rung the bell as above mentioned, and was 44 TSE AD VENTURES OF presently attended by Mrs. Slipslop, who was not much better pleased with Joseph than the lady herself. "ShpsloiJ," said Lady Booby, "when did you see Jo- seph ?" The poor woman was so surprised at the unex- pected sound of his name at so critical a time that she had the greatest difficulty to conceal the confusion she was under from her mistress, whom she answered, nevertheless, with pretty good confidence, though not entirely void of fear of suspicion, that she had not seen him that morning. " 1 am afraid," said Laby Booby, "he is a wild young fellow." ' ' That he is, " said Slipslop, ' ' and a wicked one too. To my knowledge he games, drinks, swears, and fights eternally ; besides, he is horribly indicted to wenching." "Ay!" said the lady, "I never heard that of him." " O ma- dam !" answered the other, " he is so lewd a lascal that if your ladyship keeps him much longer you will not have one virgin in your house except myself. And yet I can't conceive what the wenches see in him, to be so foolishly fond as they are ; in my eyes, he is as ugly a scarecrow as 1 ever upheld." " IS'aj," said the lady, "the boy is well enough." "La! ma'am," cries Slipslop, "I think him the ragmaticaUest fellow in the family." "Sure, Shp- slop, ' ' says she, ' ' you are mistaken : but which of the women do you most suspect ?" " Madam," says Shpslop, " there is Betty the chambermaid, I am almost convict- ed, is with child by him." " Ay !" says the lady, " then pray pay her her wages instantly. I will keep no such sluts in my family. And as for Joseph, you may discard him too." "Would your ladyship have him paid oii un- mediately?" cries Shpslop, "for perhaps when Betty is gone he may mend : and really the boy is a good servant, and a strong, healthy, luscious boy enough." " This morn- ing/' answered the lady with some vehemence. " I vsdsh, madam," cries Slipslop, " yom- ladyship would be so good as to try him a little longer." " I wiU not have my com JOSEPH ANDREWS. 45 mands disputed,'' said the lady ; " sure you are not fond of Mm yourself." "I, madam !" cries Slipslop, redden- ing, if not blushing, " I should be sorry to think your lady- ship had any reason to respect me of fondness for a fellow ; and if it be your pleasure, I shall fulfil it with as much re- luctance as possible. " " As little, I suppose you mean," said the lady ; " and so about it instantly." Mrs. Slipslop went out, and the lady had scarce taken two turns before she fell to knocking and ringing with great violence. Shp- slop, who did not travel post haste, soon returned, and was countermanded as to Joseph, biit ordered to send Betty about her business without delay. She went out a second time with much greater alacrity than before, when the lady began immediately to accuse herself of want of reso- lution, and to apprehend the return of her affection, with its pernicious consequences ; she therefore applied herself again to the bell, and resummoned Mrs. Slipslop into her presence ; who again returned, and was told by her mis- tress that she had considered better of the matter, and was absolutely resolved to turn away Joseph ; which she or- dered her to do immediately. Slipslop, who knew the vio- lence of her lady's temper, and would not venture her place for any Adonis or Hercules in the universe, left her a third time ; which she had no sooner done than the little god Oupid, fearing he had not yet done the lady's business, took a fresh arrow with the sharpest point out of his quiver, and shot it directly into her heart ; in other and plainer language, the lady's passion got the better of her reason. She called back Slipslop once more, and told her she had resolved to see the boy, and examine him herself ; there- fore bid her send him up. This wavering in her mistress's temper probably put something into the waiting-gentle- woman's head not necessary to mention to the sagacious reader. Lady Booby was going to call her back again, but could 46 THE ADVENTURES OF not prevail with herself. The next consideration therefore' was, how she should behave to Joseph when he came in. She resolved to preserve all the dignity of the woman of fashion to her servant, and to indulge herself in this last view of Joseph (for that she was most certainly resolved it should be) at his own expense, by first insulting and then discarding him. O Love, what monstrous tricks dost thou play with thy votaries of both sexes ! BLow dost thou deceive them, and make them deceive themselves ! Their follies are thy de- bght ! Their sighs make thee laugh, and their pangs are thy merriment ! Not the great Rich, who turns men into monkeys, wheel- barrows, and whatever else best humors his fancy, hath so strangely metamorphosed the human shape ; nor the great Gibber, who confounds all number, gender, and breaks tlirough every rule of grammar at his will, hath so distorted the English language as thou dost metamorphose and dis- tort the human senses. Thou puttest out our eyes, stoppest up our ears, and takest away the power of our nostrils ; so that we can nei- ther see the largest object, hear the loudest noise, nor smell the most poignant perfume. Again, when thou pleasest, thou canst make a molehill appear as a mountain, a Jew's harp sound like a trumpet, and a daisy smell like a violet. Thou canst make cowardice brave, avarice generous, pride humble, and cruelty tender-hearted. In short, thou turnest the heart of man inside out, as a juggler doth a petti- coat, and bringest whatsoever pleaaeth thee out from it. If there be any one who doubts all this, let him read the next chapter. JOSEPH ANDREWS. CHAPTER VIII. W "WHICH, AFTER SOME YEKT FESrE WETTING, THE HISTORY GOES ON, AND RELATES THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE LADY AND JOSEPH ; WHERE THE LATTER HATH SET AN EXAMPLE WHICH WE DESPAIR OP SEEESTG FOLLOWED BY HIS SEX IN THIS VICIOUS AGE. Ifow the rake Hesperus had called for his breeches, and having well rubbed his drowsy eyes, prepared to dress him- self for all night ; by whose example his brother rakes on earth likewise leave those beds in which they had slept away the day. Now Thetis, the good housewifcj began to put on the pot, in order to^ regale the good man Phoebus after his daily labors were over. In vulgar language, it was in the evening when Joseph attended his lady's orders. But as it becomes us to preserve the character of this lady, who is the heroine of our tale, and as we have natu" rally a wonderful tenderness for that beautiful part of the human species called the fair sex, before we discover too much of her frailty to our reader, it will be proper to give him a lively idea of the vast temptation which overcame all the efforts of a modest and virtuous mind, and then we humbly hope his good nature will rather pity than con- demn the imperfection of human virtue. Nay, the ladies themselves will, we hope, be induced, by considering the uncommon variety of charms which united in this young man's person, to bridle their rampant passion for chastity, and be at least as mild as their violet modesty and virtue will permit them, in censuring the conduct of a woman wno, perhaps, was in her own disposition as chaste as those pure and sanctified virgins who, after a hfe inno- cently spent in the gayeties of the town, begin about fifty to attend twice per diem at the polite churches and chapels, J8 THE ADVENTURES OF to return thanks for the grace which preserved them for- merly amongst beaux from temptations perhaps less power- ful than what now attacked the Lady Booby. Mr. Joseph Andrews was now in the one-and-twentieth year of his age. He was of the highest degree of middle stature ; his limbs were put together with great elegance, and no less strength ; his legs and thighs were formed in the exactest proportion ; his shoulders were broad and brawny, but yet his arms hiing so easily that he had all the symptoms of strength without the least clumsiness. His hair was of a nut-brown color, and was displayed in wan- ton ringlets down his back ; his forehead was high, his eyes dark, and as full of sweetness as of fire ; his nose a little inclined tp the Roman ; his teeth white and even ; his lips full, red, and soft ; his beard was only rough on his chin and upper lip ; but his cheeks, in which his blood glowed, were overspread with a thick down ; his countenance had a tenderness joined with a sensibility inexpressible. Add to this the most perfect neatness in his dress, and an air which, to those who have not seen many noblemen, would give an idea of nobility. Such was the person who now appeared before the lady. She viewed him some time in silence, and twice or thrice before she spoke changed her mind as to the manner in which she should begin. At length she said to him, " Jo- seph, 1 am sorry to hear such complaints against you : I am told you behave so rudely to the maids that they cannot db their business in quiet — 1 mean those who are not wicked enough to hearken to your solicitations. As to others, they may, perhaps, not call you rude : for there are wicked sluts who make one ashamed of one's own sex, and are as ready to admit any nauseous familiarity as fellows to offer it : nay, there are such in my family, but they shall not stay in it ; that imprudent trollop who is with ctdld by you is dis- charged by this time." s JOSEPH ANDREWS. 49 As a person who is struck througli the heart with a thun derbolt looks extremely surprised, nay, and perhaps is fo too — thus the poor Joseph received the false accusation of his mistress ; he blushed and looked confounded, which she misinterpreted to be symptoms of his guilt, and thus went on : " Come hither, Joseph : another mistress might discard you fpr these offences ; but I have a compassion for your youth, and if I could be certain you would be no more guilty — Consider, child," laying her hand carelessly upon his, " you are a handsome young fellow, and might do bet- ter ; you might make your fortune." "Madam," said Joseph, " I do assureyour ladyship I,don]t kngsy wheth ei anymgM i|LiKe_ho«igg ^ ma a. or wom an. ' ' "0 fie ! Jo- seph," answered the lady, "don't commit another crime in denying the truth. I could pardon the first ; but I hate a liar." " Madam," cries Joseph, " I hope your ladyship will not be offended at my asserting my innocence ; for, by all that is sacred, I have never offered more than kissing. " Kissing !" said the lady with great discomposure of coun- tenance, and more redness in her cheeks than anger in hei eyes, " do you call that no crime ? Kissing, J oseph, is aa a prologue to a plaj^. Can I believe a young fellow of your age and~coinplexion will be content with kissing ? No, Joseph, there is no woman who grants that but will grant more ; and I am deceived greatly in you if you would not put her closely to it. What would you tliink, Joseph, if I ad- mitted you to kiss me ?" Joseph replied he would sooner die than have any such thought. " And yet, Joseph," re- turned she, " ladies have admitted their footmen to such familiarities, and footmen, I confess to you, much less de- serving them — ^fellows without half your charms — for such might almost excuse the crime. Tell me, therefore, Joseph, if I should admit you to such freedom, what would you think of me? — ^tell me freely." " Madam," said Joseph, 60 THE ABVENTUBES OF •' I should think your ladyship condescended a great deal below yourself." " Pugh !" said she; "that I am to answer to myself : but would not you insist on more ? Would you be contented with a kiss ? "Would not your in- cKnations be all on fire rather by such a favor ?" " Madam, ' ' said Joseph, "i f they were, I Jiope I should be able to contr virtue.' egg ^without su ffering them to get the betl^Tjf'my You have heard, reaHer, poets talk of the"stStue of Surprise ; you have heard, likewise, or else you have heard very Uttle, hov/ surprise made one of the sons of Croesus speak, though he was dumb. Tou have seen the faces, in the eighteen-penny gallery, when, thi-ough the trap-door, to soft or no music, Mr. Bridgewater, Mr. William Mills, or some other of ghostly appearance, hath descended, with a face all pale with powder, and a shirt all bloody with rib- bons — but from none of these, nor from Phidias or Praxi- teles, if they should return to life — no, not from the inimi- table pencil of my friend Hogarth, could you receive such an idea of surprise as would have entered in at your eyes had tliey beheld the Lady Booby when those last words is- sued out from the lips of Joseph. " Your virtue !" said the lady, recovering after a silence of two minutes ; " I shall never survive it. Your virtue ! — intolerable confi- dence ! Have you the assurance to pretend that when a Ip-dy demeans herself to throw aside the rules of decency, in order to honor you with the highest favor in her power, your virtue should resist her inclination 2 that, when she had conquered her own virtue, she should find an obstruc- tion in yours?" " Madam, " ,^aid Joseph, "I can't see why_her_jtasi ng no ^ rtue shoulcrljfe a rea&on~agamst my having any ; or why,T)ecause I Uiu a iJian5-oiLljecause I am poor, myvirEue must be,siibseKdejif|oher pleasuresT" ' ' I am outoFpatience7*''CTies the lady : ' ' did ever mortal hear of a man's virtue? Did ever the greatest or the gravest men pretend to any of this kind? WiU magistrates who JOSEPH ANDREWS. 51 pnnisli lewdness, or parsons who preach against it, make any scrapie of committing it ? And can a boy, a stripling, have the confidence to talk of his virtue ?" "Madam," says Joseph, " th at boy is the brother of Pamela, and woul d be ashameothat the cha stity of his family T^which is Lserved in her, should be stainSd m him. IftliCTe are Hf^serve such men as your ladyship mentionsTTam sorry for it ; and I wish they had an opportunity of reading over those letters which my father has sent me of my sister Pamela's ; nor do I doubt but such an example would amend them." " You impudent villain !" cries the lady in a rage ; "do you insult me with the follies of my relation, who hath ex- posed himself all over the country upon your sister's ac- count ? a little vixen, whom I have always wondered my late Lady John Booby ever kept in her house. Sirrah ! get out of my sight, and prepare to set out this night, for I will order you your wages immediately, and you shall be stripped and turned away." " Madam," says Joseph, " I am sorry I have offended your ladyship ; I am sure I never intended it." "Yes, sirrah," cries she, "you have had the vanity to misconstrue the little innocent freedom I took, in order to try whether what 1 had heard was true. 0' my conscience, you have had the assurance to imagine I was fond of you myself . " Joseph answered, he had only spoke out of tenderness for his virtue, at which words she flew into a violent passion, and refusing to hear more, ordered him instantly to leave the room. He was no sooner gone than she burst forth into the fol- lowing exclamation : " "Whither doth this violent passion hurry us ? Wliat meannesses do we submit to from its im- pulse ? Wisely we resist its first and least approaches ; for it is then only we can assure ourselves the victory. No woman could ever safely say, so far only wiU I go. Have 1 not exposed myself to the refusal of my footman ? I can- not bear the reflection." Upon which she applied herself hit THE ADVENTURES OF 'to the bell, and rang it with infinitely more violence than was necessary, the faithful Slipslop attending near at hand : (o say the truth, she had conceived a suspicion at her last interview with her mistress, and had waited ever since in the ante-chamber, having carefully applied her ears to the keyhole during the whole time that the preceding vonversation passed between Joseph and the lady. CHAPTER IX. WHAT PAJSSEP BETWEEN THE LADY AND MBS. SLIPSLOP ; IN WHICH WE PROPHESY THERE ARE SOME STROKES WHICH EVERY ONE WILL NOT TRULY COMPREHEND AT THE FIRST READING. " Slipslop," said the lady, " I find too much reason to believe all thou hast told me of this wicked Joseph ; I hare determined to part with him instantly ; so go you to tlie steward, and bid him pay him his wages." Slipslop, who had preserved hitherto a distance to her lady — rather out of necessity than inclination — and who thought the knowl- edge of this secret had thrown down all distinction be- tween them, answered her mistress very pertly, " She 'vvished she knew her own mind ; and that she was certain she would call her back again before she was got half way downstairs." The lady replied, she had taken a resolu- tion, and was resolved to keep it. "lam sorry for it," cries Slipslop, " and if I had known you would have pun- ished the poor lad so severely, you should never have heard a particle of the matter. Here's a fuss indeed about noth- ing !" " Nothing !" returned my ladv ; " do you think I will countenance lewdness in my house?" "If yon will turn away every footman," said Slipslop, " that is a lover of the sport, you must soon open the coach door yourself, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 53 or get a set of mophrodites to wait upon you ; and I am sure I hated the sight of them even singing in an opera." " Do as I bid you," says my lady, " and don't shock my ears with your beastly language." "Marry come up," cries Slipslop, " people's ears are sometimes the nicest part about them." The lady, who began to admire the new style in which her waiting-gentlewoman delivered herself, and by the con- clusion of her speech suspected somewhat of the truth, called her back, and desired to know what she meant by the ex- traordinary degree of freedom in which she thought proper to indulge her tongue. " Freedom !" says Slipslop ; " I don't know what you call freedom, madam ; servants have tongues as well as their mistresses. " " Yes, and saucy ones too," answered the lady ; '' but I assure you I shall bear no such impertinence." "Impertinence! I don't know that I am impertinent, ' ' says Slipslop. ' ' Yes, indeed you are," cries my lady, " and, unless you mend your manners, this house is no place for you." " Manners !" cries Slip- slop ; " I never was thought to want manners nor modesty neither ; and for places, there are more places than one ; and I know what I know." "What do you know, mis- tress ?" answered the lady. " I am not obliged to tell that to everybody," says Slipslop, " any more than I am obliged to keep it a secret." " I desire you will provide yourself," answered the lady. "With all my heart," replied the waiting-gentlewoman, and so departed in a passion, and slapped the door after her. The lady too plainly perceived that her waiting-gentle- woman knew more than she would willingly have had her acquainted with ; and this she imputed to Joseph's having discovered to her what passed at the first interview. This therefore blew up her rage against him, and confirmed her in a resolution of parting with him. But the dismissing Mrs. Slipslop was a point not so easilji 54 THE AD VENTURES OF to be resolved upon. She had the utmost tenderness foi her reputation, as she knew on that depended many of the most valuable blessings of life — particularly cards, making courtesies in public places, and, above al l, the pleasure of demolishing th fi^repu tatio n§_Q f others, J n_ghi£S~innocent a musement she had an extraordinary de light. She there- fqre determine d to submit to any i ns ult from a servant rat her than run a risk of losing the title t o so many great p rivileges . She therefore sent for her steward, Mr. Peter Pounce, and ordered him to pay Joseph his wages, to strip off his livery, and to turn him out of the house that evening. She then called Slipslop up, and after refreshing her spirits with a small cordial, which she kept in her closet, she began in the following manner : " Slipslop, why will you, who know my passionate tem- per, attempt to provoke me by your answers ? I am con- vinced you are an honest servant, and should be very unwill- ing to part with you. I believe, likewise, you have found me an indulgent mistress on many occasions, and have as little reason on your side to desire a change. I can't help being surprised, therefore, that you will take the surest method to offend me — I mean, repeating my words, which you know I have always detested. ' ' The prudent waiting-gentlewoman had duly weighed the whole matter, and found, on mature dehberation, that a good place in possession was better than one in expectation. As she found her mistress therefore inclined to relent, she thought proper also to put on some small condescension, which was as readily accepted ; and so the affair was recon- ciled, all offences forgiven, and a present of a gown and pet- ticoat made her, as an instance of her lady's future favor. She offered once or twice to speak in favor of Joseph ; but found her lady's heart so obdurate that she; prudently dropped all such efforts. She considered there were mora JOSEPH ANDREWS. 55 footmen in the house, and some as stout fellows, though not quite so handsome, as Joseph ; besides, the reader hath al- ready seen her tender advances had not met with the en- couragement she might have reasonably expected. She thought she had thrown away a great deal of sack and sweetmeats on an ungrateful rascal ; and being a little inclined to the opinion of that female sect who hold one lusty young fellow to be nearly as good as another lusty young fellow, she at last gave up Joseph and his cause, and, with a triumph over her passion highly commendable, walked off with her present, and with great tranquillity paid a visit to a stone-bottle, which is of sovereign use to a philosophical temper. She left not her mistress so easy. The poor lady could not reflect without agony that her dear reputation was in the power of her servants. All her comfort as to Joseph was, that she hoped he did not understand her meaning ; at least she could say for herseK, she had not plainly expressed any thing to him ; and as to Mrs. Slipslop, she imagined she could bribe her to secrecy. But what hurt her most was that in reality she had not so entirely conquered her passion ; the little god lay lurk- ing in her heart, though anger and disdain so hoodwinked her that she could not see him. She was a thousand times on the very brink of revoking the sentence she had passed against the poor youth. Love became his advocate, and whispered many things in his favor. Honor likewise en- deavored to vindicate his crime, and Pity to mitigate his punishment. On the other side. Pride and Kevenge spoke as loudly against him. And thus the poor lady was tortured with perplexity, opposite passions distracting and tearing her mind different ways. So have I seen, in the hall of Westminster, where Ser- geant Bramble hath been retained on the right side, and Ser- geant Puzzle on the left, the balance of opinion (so equal 56 THE AD VENTURES OF were their fees) alternately incline to either scale. Now Bramble throws in an argument, and Puzzle's scale strikes the beam ; again Bramble shares the like fate, overpowered by the weight of Puzzle. Here Bramble hits, there Puzzle strikes ; here one has you, there t'other has you, till at last all becomes one scene of confusion in the tortured minds of the hearers ; equal wagers are laid on the success, and neither judge nor jury can possibly make any thing of the matter, all things are so enveloped by the careful ser- geants in doubt and obscurity. Or, as it happens in the conscience, where honor and hon- esty pull one way, and a bribe and necessity another. If it was oiir present business only to make similes, we could produce many more to this purpose ; but a simile (as well as a word) to the wise. "We shall therefore see ^ little after our hero, for whom the reader is doubtless in some pain. CHAPTER X. JOSEPH WRITES ANOTHER LETTER : HIS TRANSACTIONS WITH MR. PETER POUNCE, ETC., WITH HIS DEPARTURE FROM LADY BOOBY. The disconsolate Joseph would not have had an under- standing sufficient for the principal subject of such a book as this if he had any longer misunderstood the drift of his mistress ; and indeed, that he did not discern it sooner, the reader will be pleased to impute to an unwillingness in him to discover what he must condemn in her as a fault. Hav- ing therefore quitted her presence, he retired into his own garret, and entered himself into an ejaculation on th^'iium- berless calamities which attended beauty, and the misfor- tun e it was to be handsomer th an one's neighbors. ' He then sat down, and addressed himself to his sister Pamela in the following words : JOSEPH ANDREWS. 57 " Deak Sistee Pamela : Hoping you are well, wliat news have I to tell you ! O Pamela ! my mistress is fallen in love with me — that is, what great folks call falling in love ; she has a mind to ruin me ; but I hope I shall have more resolution and more grace than to part^^withrniy""\artue to ajiy lady uponeart.h. " " Mr. Adams hath often told me that chastity is as great a virtue in a man as in a woman. He says he never knew any more than his wife, and I shall endeavor to follow his example. Indeed, it is owing entirely to his excellent ser- mons and advice, together with your letters, that I have been able to resist a temptation which, he says, no man complies with, but he repents in this world, or is damned for it in the next ; and why should I trust to repentance on my deathbed, since I may die in my sleep ? What fine things are good advice and good examples ! But I am glad she turned me out of the chamber as she did, for I liad once almost forgotten every word Parson Adams had ever said to me. " 1 don't doubt, dear sister, but^yQn,-wiIL_haie grace to preserve your virtiie_against all trials ; and I beg you ear- nestly to pray I may be enabled to preserve mine ; for truly it is very severely attacked by more~than one ; but I hope 1 shall copy your example, and that of Joseph my namesake, and maintain niy_virtue against all temptations." Joseph had not finished his letter when he was sum- moned downstairs by Mr. Peter Pounce to receive his wages ; for, besides that out of eight pounds a-year he al- lowed his father and mother four, he had been obliged, in order to furnish himself with musical instruments, to applj* to the generosity of the aforesaid Peter, who, on urgent oc- casions, used to advance the servants their wages ; not be- fore they were due, but before they were payable — that is, perhaps, half a year after they were due ; and this at the 58 THE ADVENTURES OF moderate premium of fifty per cent or a little more, by which charitable methods, together with lending money to other people, and even to his own master and mistress, the honest man had, from nothing, in a few years amassed a small snm of twenty thousand pounds or thereabouts. Joseph having received his little remainder of wages, and having stripped off his livery, was forced to borrow a frock and breeches of one of the servants (for he was so beloved in the family that they would all have lent him any thing) : and being told by Peter that he must not stay a moment longer in the house than was necessary to pack up his linen, which he easily did in a very narrow compass, he took a melancholy leave of his fellow-servants, and set out at seven in the evening. He had proceeded the length of two or three streets be- fore he absolutely determined with himself whether he should leave the town that night, or, procuring a lodging, wait till the morning. At last, the moon, shining very bright, helped him to come to a resolution of beginning his journey immediately, to which likewise he had some other induce- ments, which the reader, without being a conjurer, cannot possibly guess till we have given him those hints which it may be now proper to open. CHAPTER XI. OF SEVEEAL NEW MATTERS NOT EXPECTED. It is an observation sometimes made that to indicate our idea of a simple fellow we say he is easily to be seen through : nor do I believe it a more improper denotation of a simple book. Instead of applying this to any particular performance, we choose rather to remark the contrary in this history, where the scene opens itself by small degrees : josmpjS andhews. 5d and he is a sagacious reader who can see two chapters before him. For this reason we have not hitherto hinted a matter which now seems necessary to be explained, since it may be wondered at, first, tliat Joseph made such extraordinary haste out of town, which hath been ah-eady shown ; and eecondly, which will be now shown, that, instead of pro- eeeeding to the habitation of his father and mother, or to his beloved sister Pamela, he chose rather to set out full speed to the Lady Booby's country-seat, which he had left on his journey to London. Be it known, then, that in the same parish where this seat stood there lived a young girl whom Joseph (though the best of sons and brothers) longed more impatiently to see than his parents or his sister. She was a poor girl, who had formerly been bred up in Sir John's family, whence, a little before the jom-ney to London, she had been dis- carded by Mrs. Slipslop, on account of her extraordinary beauty ; for I never could find any other reason. This yoimg creature (who now lived with a farmer in the parish) had been always beloved by Joseph, and returned his affection. She was two years only younger than our hero. They had been acquainted from their infancy, and liad conceived a very early liking for each other, which had grown to such a degree of affection that Mr. Adams had with much ado prevented them from marrying, and per- suaded them to wait till a few years' service and thrift had a little improved their experience, and enabled them to live comfortably together. They followed this good man's advice, as indeed his word was little less than a law in his parish ; for as he had shown nis parishioners, by an uniform behavior of thirty -five years' duration, that he had their good entirely at heart, so they consulted him on every occasion, and very seldonx acted contrary to his opinion. 60 THE ADVENTURES OF ITothing can be imagined more tender tlian was the part- ing between these two lovers. A thousand sighs heaved the bosom of Joseph, a thousand tears distilled from the lovely eyes of Fanny (for that was her name). Though her modesty would only suffer her to admit his eager kisses, her "violent love made her more than passive in his embraces, and she often pulled him to her breast with a soft pressure, wliich, though perhaps it would not have squeezed an in- sect to death, caused more emotion in the heart of Joseph than the closest Cornish hiig could have done. The reader may perhaps wonder that so fond a pair should, during a twelvemonths' absence, never converse with one another : indeed, there was but one reason which did or could have prevented them ; and this was, that poor Fanny could neither write nor read : nor could she be pre- vailed upon to transmit the dehcacies of her tender and chaste passion by the hands of an amanuensis. They contented themselves, therefore, with frequent in- quiries after each other's health, with a mutual confidence in each other's fidehty, and the prospect of their future happiness. Having explained these matters to our reader, and, as far as possible, satisfied all his doubts, we return to honest Joseph, whom we left just set out on his travels by the hght of the moon. Those who have read any romance or poetry, ancient or modem, must have been informed that love hath wings ; by which they are not to understand, as some young ladies by mistake have done, that a lover can fly, the writers, by this ingenious allegory, intending to insinuate no more than that lovers do not march like horse-guards — ^in short, that they put the best leg foremost, which our lusty youth, who could walk with any man, did so heartily on this occasion that within four hours he reached a famous house of hospitalitv well known to the western traveller. It pre- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 61 seiits you a lion on tlie sign-post ; and the master, who was christened Timotheus, is commonly called plain Tim. Some have conceived tEaTlie hath particularly chosen the lion for his sign, as he doth in countenance greatly re- semble that magnanimous beast, though his disposition savors more of the sweetness of the lamb. He is a person well received among all sorts of men, being qualified to render himself agreeable to any, as he is well versed in history and politics, hath a smattering in law and divinity, cracks a good jest, and plays wonderfully well on the French horn. A violent storm of hail forced Joseph to take shelter in this inn, where he remembered Sir Thomas had dined in his way to town. Joseph had no sooner seated himself by the kitchen fire than Timotheus, observing his livery, began to condole the loss of his late master, who was, he said, his very particular and intimate acquaintance, with whom he had cracked many a merry bottle, ay, many a dozen, in his time. He then remarked that all these things were over now, all passed, and just as if they had never been ; and concluded with an excellent observation on the certainty of death, which his wife said was indeed very true. A fellow now arrived at the same inn with two horses, one of which he was leading farther down into the country to meet his master ; these he put into the stable, and came and took his place by Joseph's side, who immediately knew him to be the servant of a neighboring gentleman who used to visit at their house. This fellow was likewise forced in by the storm ; for he had orders to go twenty miles farther that evening, and luckily on the same road which Joseph himself intended to take. He therefore embraced this opportunity of compli- menting his friend with his master's horse (notwithstand- ing he had received express commands to the contrary), which was readily accepted ; and so, after they had drank « loving pot, and the storm was over, they set out together. 63 THE AD VENTURES OF CHAPTER XII CONTAINING MANY SUEPEISING ADVENTURES WHICH JOSEPH ANDREWS MET WITH ON THE EOAD, SCARCE CKEDIBLE TO THOSE WHO HAVE NEVEB TRAVELLED IN A STAGE-COACH. Nothing remarkable happened on the road till their ar- rival at the inn to which the horses were ordered, whither they came abou,t two in the morniug. The moon then shone very bright, and Joseph, making his friend a pres- ent of a pint of wine, and thanking him for the favor of his horse, notwithstanding all entreaties to the contrary, proceeded on his journey on foot. He had not gone above two miles, charmed with the hope of shortly seeing his beloved Fanny, when he was met by two fellows in a narrow lane, and ordered to stand and deliver. He readily gave them all the money he had, which was somewhat less than two pounds, and told them he hoped they would be so generous as to return him a few shillings, to defray his charges on his way home. One of the ruffians answered with an oath, " Yes, we'll give you something presently ; but first strip and be d — n'd to you." "Strip," cried the other, "or I'll blow your brains to the devil." Joseph, remembering that he had borrowed his coat and breeches of a friend, and that he should be ashamed of making any excuse for not returning them, replied, he hoped they would not insist on his clothes, which were not worth much, but consider the coldness of the night. " You are cold, are you, you rascal ?" said one of the robbers ; "I'll warm you with a vengeance ;" and, damning his eyes, snapped a pistol at his head, which he had no sooner done than the other levelled a blow at him with his stick, which Joseph, who was expert at cud- t?el-playing, caught with his, and returned the favor so JOSEPH ANDREWS. 63 Buceessfully on liis adversary that he laid Mm sprawling at his feet, and at the same instant received ' a blow from behind, with the butt end of a pistol, from the other vil- lain, which felled him to the ground, and totally deprived him of his senses. The thief who had been knocked down had now recov- ered himself, and both together fell to belaboring poor Joseph with their sticks till they were convinced they had put an end to his miserable being ; they then stripped him entirely naked, threw him into a ditch, and departed with their booty. The poor wretch, who lay motionless a long time, just began to recover his senses as a stage-coach came by. The postilion, hearing a man's groans, stopped his horses, and told the coachman he was certain there was a dead man lying in the ditch, for he heard him gi'oan. " Go on, sirrah," says the coachman; "we are confounded late, and have no time to look after dead men." A lady, who heard what the postilion said, and likewise heard the groan, called e ager ly to the coachman to stop and see what was the matter. TJpon which he bid the postilion alight, and look into the ditch. He did so, and returned, " that there was a man sitting upright, as naked as ever he was born. ' ' " O J — sus," cried the lady, " a naked man ! Dear co ach- man,jiii^ ^& on and l oaitejum." Upon this the gentleman got out of the coach, and Joseph begged them to have mercy upon him, for that he had been robbed and almost beaten to death. " Robbed !" cries an old gentleman ; " let us make all the haste imaginable, or we shall be rob- bed too. ' ' A young man who belonged to the law answer- ed, " 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 to some account for his murder. He therefore thought it advisable to save the poor creature's life, for their owu 64 THE ADVENTURES OF sakes, if possible ; at least, if kb dx&X, to prevent the jt'Sry's finding that they fled for it. He was therefore of opinion to take the man into the coach, and carrjr him to the next inn." The lady insisted, " That he should not come into - the coach. That if they lifted him in, she would herself alight, for she had rather stay in that place to all eternity than ride with a naked man." The coachman objected, ' ' That he could not suffer him to be taken in unless some- . body would pay a shilling for his carriage the four miles." Which the two gentlemen refused to do. But the lawyer, • who was afraid of some mischief happening to himseK, if the wretch was left behind in that condition, saying no man could be too cautious in these matters, and that he remem- bered 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 sen- sible effect on the coachman, who was well acquainted with the person who spoke them ; and the old gentleman above mentioned, thinking the naked man would afford him fre- , quent 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 mo ved with compassion at the poor creature's condi- tion, 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 sufficient cover- ing to prevent giving the least offence to decency — so per- • fectly modest was this young man, such mighty effects had the spotless example of the amiable Pamela, and the excel- lent sermons of Mr. Adams, wrought upon him. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 63 Though there were several great-coats about the coach, it was not easy to get over this difficulty which Joseph had started. The two gentlemen complained they were cold, » and could not spare a rag, the man of wit saying, with a t laugh, that c harity began at home ; and tlie coachman, who had two great-coats spread under him, refused to lend • either, lest they should be made bloody ; the lady's foot- man desired 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 postilion (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 swear- ing a great oath (for which he was rebuked by the passen- gers), " That he would rather ride in his shirt all his life than suffer a feUow-fcreature to lie in so miserable a condi- • tion." Joseph, having put on the great-coat, was lifted into the coach, which now proceeded on its journey. He declared himseK almost dead with the cold, which gave the man of wit an occasion to ask the lady if she could not accommo- date hi£u w.-h a dram. She answered with some resent- ment, " She wondered at his asking her such a question, but assured him she never tasted any such thing." The law^'^er 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 passen- gers, who readily gave it them ; and the lady, in her fright, delivered up a little silver bottle, of about a half -pint size, which the rogue, clapping it to his mouth, and drinking her health, declared held some of the best N"antes he had ever tasted ; this the lady afterwards assured the company was the mistake of her maid, for that she had ordered hei to fill the bottle with Hungary-water. 66 THE ADVENTURES OF As soon as the fellows were departed, the lawyer, who had, it seems, a case of pistols in the seat of the coach, in- formed the company that, if it had been daylight, and he could have come at his pistols, he would not have submit- ted to the robbery ; he likewise set forth that he had often met highwaymen when he travelled on horseback, but none ever durst attack him ; concluding that, if he had not been more afraid for the lady than for himself, he should not have now parted with his money so easily. As wit is generally observed to love to reside in empty pockets, so the gentleman whose ingenuity we have above remarked, as soon as he had parted with his money, began to grow wonderfully facetious. He made frequent allu- sions 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 fhe company. The lawyer likewise made several very pretty jests with- out departing from his profession. He said, " If Joseph and the lady were alone, he would be more capable of mak- ing a conveyance to her, as his affairs were not fettered with any incumbrance ; he'd warrant he soon suffered a recovery by a writ of entry, which was the proper way to create heirs in tail ; that, for his own part, he would en- gage to make so firm a settlement in a coach that there should be no danger of an ejectment ;" with an inundation of the hke gibberish, which he continued to vent till the coach arrived at an ian, where one servant-maid only was up, in readiness to attend the coa._liman, and furnish him with cold meat and a dram. Joseph desired to alight, and that he might have a bed prepared for him, which the maid readily promised to perform ; and, being a good-natured wench, and not so squeamish as the lady had been, she clapped a large fagot on the fire, and furnishing Joseph with . a great-coat belonging to one of the hostlers, desired him to Bit down and warm himself whilst she made his bed. The JOSEPH ANDREWS. 67 coacliman, in the meantime, 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, hurried them ofE as fast as he could. The wench soon got Joseph to bed, and promised to use her interest to borrow him a shirt ; but imagining, as she afterwards said, by his being so bloody, that he must be a dead man, she ran with all speed to hasten the surgeon, who was more than half dressed, apprehending that the coach had been overturned, and some gentleman or lady hurt. As soon as the wench had informed him at his win- dow that it was a poor foot-passenger who had been strip- ped of all he had, and almost murdered, he chid her for disturbing him so early, slipped ofE 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 songsters, 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 learn- ing 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 ? 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 any thing I'U throw the 68 TSE AD VENTURES OF chamber-pot at your head. Go, send your master co me. ' " Yes, madam," answered Betty. As soon as he came in, she thus began : " What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Tow-wouse ? Am I to buy shirts to lend to a set of scabby rascals ?" " My dear," said Mr. 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 of all he hath." "Well, then," said she, " where'g his money to pay his reckoning ? Why doth not such a fellow go to an ale-house ? I shall send him pack- ing as soon as 1 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 assiire you." " WeU, says he, " my dear, do as you wil' when you are up ; you know 1 never contradict you.'' " No," says she ; " if the devil was to contradict nie, 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, and was now came 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 cur own expense. ' ' Tow-wouse (who, notwithstanding his charity, would have given his vote, as freely as ever he did at an election, that any other house in the kingdom should have quiet possession of his guest) answered, ' ' My dear, I JOSEPH ANDREWS. 69 am not to blame ; lie was brought hither by the stage- coach, and Betty had put him to bed before I was stir- ring." " I'll Betty her," says she. At wliich, 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 melancholy affair. CHAPTER XIII. WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSEPH DURING HIS SICKNESS AT THE INN, WITH THE CUEIOUS DISCOUKSE BETWEEN HIM AND ME. BAENABAS, THE PAESON OF THE PAEISH. As soon as Joseph had communicated a particular history of the robbery, together with a short account of himself, and his intended journey, he asked the surgeon if he appre- hended 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 ! b ut God's wil l be done." The surgeon then advised him, if he had any worldly affairs to settle, that he would do it as soon as possible ; for, though he hoped he might recover, yet he thought himself obliged to acquaint him he was in great danger ; and if the malign concoction of his humors should cause a suscitation of his. fever, he might soon grow delirious and incapable to make his will. Joseph answered, " That it was impossible for any creature in the universe to be in a poorer condition than himself ; for since the robbery he had not one thing of any kind whatever which he could call his own. " "I /O THE ADVENTURES OF had," said he, " a poor little piece of gold, which they tools away, that would have been a' comfort to me in all my affictions ; but surely Fanny, I want nothing to remind me of thee. I have tjy 'lear image in my heart, and no villain can ever tear it the-ice." Joseph desired paper and pens to write a letter, but they were refused him ; and he was advised to use all his en- deavors to compose himseK. They then left him ; and Mr. Tow-woiise sent to a clergyman to come and administer his good offices to the soul of poor Joseph, since the surgeon despaired of making any successful applications to his body. Mr. Barnabas (for that was the clergyman's name) came as soon as sent for ; and, having first drank a dish of tea with the landlady, and afterwards a bowl of punch with the landlord, he walked up to the room where Joseph lay ; but, finding him asleep, returned to take the other sneaker ; which when he had finished, he again crept softly up to the chamber-door, and having opened it, heard the sick man talking to himself in the following manner : " most adorable Pamela ! most virtuous sister ! whose example could alone enable me to withstand all the tempta- tions of riches and beauty, and to preserve my virtue pure and chaste for the arms of my dear Fanny, if it had pleas- ed heaven that I should ever have come unto them. "What riches, "»r honors, 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 inno- cence and virtue could give any comfort to such a miserable wretch as I am ? Yet these can make me prefer this sick and painful bed to all the pleasures I should have found in my lady's. These can make ine face death without fear ; and though I love my Fanny more than ever man loved a woman, these can teach me to resign myself to the Divine will without repining. O thou delightful, charming crea- ture ! if heaven had indulged thee to my arms, the poorest, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 71 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 heartily pray thou may'st meet comfort in this." Barnabas thought he had heard enough, so downstairs 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 opinion, he had not been once out of his senses since his ar- rival at the inii. Mr. Barnabas was again sent for, and with much- diffi- culty prevailed on to make another visit. As soon as he entered the room he told Joseph ' ' He was come to pray by him, and to prepare him for another world ; in the first place, therefore, he hoped he had repented of all his sins." Joseph answered, " He hoped he had ; but there was one thing which he knew not whether he should call a sin ; if it was, he feared he should die in the commission of it ; and that was, the regret of parting with a young woman whom he loved as tenderly as he did his heart-strings." Barnabas bade him be assured " that any repining at the Divine will was one of the greatest sins he could com- mit ; that he ought to forget all carnal affections, and think of better things." Joseph said, "That neither in this world nor the next he could forget his Fanny ; and that the thought, however grievous, of parting from her for ever, was not half so tormenting as the fear of what she would suffer when she knew his misfortune." Barnabas said, " That such fears argued a diffidence and despondence very criminal : that he must divest himself of all human 72 THE ADVENTURES OF passions, and fix Ms heart above." Joseph answered, " That was what he desired to do, and should be obliged to him if he would enable him to accomplish it." Barnabas replied, " That must be done by grace." Joseph besought him to discover how he might attain it. Barnabas answer- ed, " By prayer and faith. " He then questioned him con- cerning 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 jus- tice." "Yes," said Joseph, " but if 1 was to meet them again I am afraid I should attack them, and kiU them too, if I could." " Doubtless," answered Barnabas, " it is lawful to kill a thief ; but can you say you forgive them as a Christian ought?" Joseph desired to know what that forgiveness was. " That is," answered Barnabas, " to for- give them as — as — it is to forgive them as — -in short, it is to forgive them as a Christian." Joseph replied, "He forgave them as much as he could." "Well, well," said Barnabas, "that vidll do." He then demanded of him, " If he remembered any more sins unrepented of ; and if he did, he desired him to make haste and repent of them as fast as he could, that they might repeat over a few prayers together." Joseph answered, " He could not recollect any great crimes he had been guilty of, and that those he had committed he was sincerely sorry for." Barnabas said that was enough, and then proceeded to prayer with all the ex- pedition he was master of, some company then waiting for him below in the parlor, where the ingredients for punch were all in readiness ; but no one would squeeze the oranges tiU he came. Joseph complained he was dry, and desired a little tea ; which Barnabas reported to Mrs. Tow-wouse, who answer- ed " she had just done drinking it, and could not be slop- ping aU day," but ordered Betty to carry him up some small beer. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 73 Betty obeyed her mistress's commands ; 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 him some herself, and attended him with it, where we wiU leave her and Joseph together for some time, to entertain the reader with other matters. CHAPTER XIV. BEING VERT FULL OF ADVENTUKES WHICH SUCCEEDED EACH OTHER AT THE END. It was now the dusk of the evening, when a grave person rode into the inn, and committing his horse to the hostler, went directly into the kitchen, and having called for a pipe of 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 al ready seen him. Mrs. Tow-wouse said, " She wondered what the devil Tom Whipwell meant by bringing such guests to her house when there were so many ale-houses on the road proper for their reception. But she assured him if he died the parish should be at the expense of the funeral." She added, " ISIothing 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!" rephed Mrs. Tow-wouse; "I suppose that is all we are like to have for the reckoning. I desire no such gentleman should ever call at the Dragon" ^ which it seems was the sign of the inrV 74 THE ADVENTURES OF The gentleman lately arrived discovered a great deal of emotion at the distress of this poor creature, whom he ob- served to be fallen not into the most compassionate hands. And indeed, if Mrs. Tow-wouse had given no utterance to the sweetness of her temper, nature had taken such pains in her countenance that Hogarth himseK never gave more expression to a picture. Her person was short, thin, and crooked. Her forehead projected in the middle, and thence descended in a de- clivity 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 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 wonder- fully adapted to the sentiments it was to convey, being both loud and hoarse. It is not easy to say whether the gentleman had conceived a greater dislike for his landlady or compassion for her unhappy guest. He inquired very earnestly of the sur- geon, who was now come into the kitchen, whether he had any hopes of his recovery? He begged him to use all pos- sible means towards it, telling him "it was the duty of men of all professions to apply their skill gratis for the relief of the poor and necessitous." The surgeon answer- ed, ' ' He should take proper care ; but he defied all the surgeons in London to do him any good." " Pray, sir," said the gentleman, " what are his wounds?" "Why, do you know any thing of wounds?" says the surgeon (wink- ing upon Mrs. Tow-wouse). " Sir, I have a small smatter- ing in surgery," answered the gentleman. " A smattering — ho, ho, ho ! " said the surgeon ; "I believe it is a smat- tering, indeed." The company were all attentive, expecting to hear the JOSEPH ANDREWS. 7S doctor, who was what they call a dry fellow, expose the gentleman. He began therefore with an air of triumph : "I suppose, sir, you have travelled?" " Eo, really, sir," said the gentleman. " Ho ! then you have practised in the hos- pitals, perhaps ?" " No, sir." " Hum ! not that neither ? Whence, sir, then, if I may be so bold to inquire, have you got your knowledge in surgery?" "Sir," answered the gentleman, " I do not pretend to much ; but the little I know I have from books." "Books!" cries the doctor. " What, I suppose you have read Galen and Hippocrates !" "No, sir," said the gentleman. " How ! you understand surgery," answers the doctor, "and not read Galen and Hippocrates?" " Sir," cries the other, "I believe there are many surgeons who have never read these authors." "I believe so too," says the doctor; "more shame for them ; but, thanks to my education, I have them by heart, and very seldom 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, and the whole company burst into a laugh.) The doctor, pursuing his triumph, asked the gentleman "If he did not understand physic as well as surgery." "Rather better," answered the gentleman. " 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 aeourrite morbo ; that is my method. I suppose, brother, you understand Latin ? ' ' " A little," says the gentleman. " Ay, and Greek now, I'll warrant you : Ton dapo-m'ibomvnos poluflosboio thalasscs. But I have almost forgot these things ; I could have re- 76 THE AB VENTURES OF peated Homer by lieart once." " I fags ! the gentleman has caught a traitor," says Mrs. Tow-wouse, at which they all fell a laughing. The gentleman, who had not the least afEection for jok- ing, very contentedly suffered the doctor to enjoy his vic- tory, which he did with no small satisfaction ; and hav- ing 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 abovestairs. " " Sir," says the doctor, " his case is that of a dead man. The contusion on his head has perforated the internal mem- brane of the o cciput , and diyellicatsd 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 dehriuus, or de- lirious, as the vulgar express it. ' ' He was proceeding in this learned manner when a mighty noise interrupted him. Some young fellows in the neighborhood had taken one of the thieves, and were bring- ing him into the inn. Betty ran upstairs with this news to Joseph, who begged they might search for a httle piece of broken gold, which had a ribbon tied to it, and which he could swear to amongst aU the lioards of the richest men in the universe. Notwithstanding the fellow's persisting in his innocence, the mob were very busy in searching him, and presently, among other things, pulled out the piece of gold just mentioned, which Betty no sooner saw than she laid violent hands on it, and conveyed it up to Joseph, who received it with raptures of joy, and hugging it in his bosom, declared he could now die contented. "Within a few minutes afterwards came in some othei fellows with a bundle which they had found in a ditch, and which was indeed the clothes which had been stripped JOSEPH ANDREWS. 77 off from Joseph, and the other things they had taken from him. The gentleman no sooner saw the coat than he declared he knew the livery ; and if it had been taken from the poor creature abovestairs, desired he might see him ; for that he was very well acquainted with the family to whom that livery belonged. He was accordingly conducted up to Betty ; but what, reader, was the surprise on both sides, when he saw Joseph was the person in bed, and when Joseph discovered the face of his good friend Mr. Abraham Adams ! It would be impertinent to insert a discourse which chieily turned on the relation of matters already well known to the reader ; for, as soon as the curate had satisfied Joseph concerning the perfect health of his Fanny, he was on his side very inquisitive into all the particulars which had produced this unfortunate accident. To return therefore to the kitchen, where a great variety of company were now assembled from all the rooms of the house, as well as the neighborhood, so much delight do men take in contemplating the countenance of a thief. Mr. Tow-wouse began to rub his hands with pleasure at seeing so large an assembly, who would, he hoped, shortly adjourn into several apartments, in order to discourse over the robbery, and drink a health to all honest men. But Mrs. Tow-wouse, whose misfortune it was commonly to see things a little perversely, began to rail at those who brought the fellow into her house, telling her husband, " They were very likely to thrive who kept a house of entertain- ment for beggars and thieves." The mob had now finished their search, and could find nothing about the captive Hkely 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, because they were not found in his cue 78 THE AD VENTURES OF tody, to wMeh Barnabas agreed, and added that these were iona wamiata, and belonged to the lord of the manor. " How," says the surgeon, " do you say these goods be- long to the lord of the manor ?" "I do," cried Barnabas. " Then I deny it," says the surgeon ; " what can the lord of the manor have to do in the case ? Will any one at- tempt to persuade me that what a man finds is not his own ?" " I have heard," says an old fellow in the corner, "justice Wise-one say, that, if every man had his right, whatever is found belongs to the king of London." " That may be true," says Barnabas, " in some sense ; for the law makes a difference between things stolen and things found ; for a thing may be stolen that never is found, ard a thing may be found that never was stolen; Now, goods that are both stolen and found are wamiata, and they belong to the lord of the manor." " So the lord of the manor is there - ceiver of stolen goods," says the doctor, at which there was an universal laugh, being first begun by himself. While the prisoner, by persisting in his innocence, had almost (as there was no evidence against him) brought over Barnabas, the surgeon, Tow-wouse, and several others to his 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 milhon, aye, amongst ten thousand. This immediately turned the scale against the prisoner, and every one now concluded liim guilty. It was resolved, therefore, to keep him secured that night, and early in the morning to carry him before a justice JOSEPH ANDREWS. ^ CHAPTER XV. SHOWING HOW MES. TOW-WOUSB WAS A LITTLE MOLLIFIED, AND HOW OFFICIOUS ME. BAENABA8 AND THE SUEGEON WEEE TO PEOSECUTE THE THIEF ; WITH A DISSERTATION ACCOUNTING FOE THEIE ZEAL, AND THAT OF MANY OTHEE PEES0N8 NOT MENTIONED IN THIS HISTOET. Betty told her mistress she beUeved the man in bed was a greater man than they took him for ; for, besides the ex- treme whiteness of his skin, and the softness of his hands, she observed a verj great famiharity between the gentle- man and him ; and added, she was certain they were inti- mate acquaintance, if not relations. This somewhat abated the severity of Mrs. Tow-wonse's countenance. She said, " God forbid she should not dis- charge 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 said, " If the traveller be a gentleman, though he hath no money about him now, we shall most likely be paid hereafter ; so you may begin to score whenever you will." Mrs. Tow-wouse answered, " Hold your simple tongue, and don't instruct me in my business. I am sure I am sorry for the gentleman's misfor- tune with all my heart : and I hope the villain who hath used him so barbarously will be hanged. Betty, go see what he wants. God forbid he should want any thing in my house." Barnabas and the surgeon went up to Joseph to satisfy themselves concerning the piece of gold ; Joseph was with difficulty prevailed upon to show it them, but would by no entreaties be brought to deliver it out of his own possession. , He, however, attested this to be the same which had been 80 THE ADVENTURES OF 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 produce this gold before the justice ; for as to carrying Joseph himself, it seemed impossible ; nor was there any great hkehhood of obtaining it from him, for he had fastened it with a ribbon to his arm, and solemnly vowed that noth- ing but irresistible force should ever separate them ; in which resolution, Mr. Adams, clenching a fist rather less than the knuckle of an ox, declared he would support him. A dispute arose on this occasion concerning evidence not very necessary to be related here, after which the surgeon dressed Mr. Joseph's head, still persisting in the imminent danger in which his patient lay, but concluding, with a very important look, ' ' That he began to have some hopes ; that he should send him a sanative soporiferou s draught, and would see him in the morning." After which Barnabas and he departed, and left Mr. Joseph and Mr. Adams to- gether. Adams informed Joseph of the occasion ct this journey which he was making to London, namely, to p 'blish three volumes of sermons, being encouraged, as he said, by an advertisement lately set forth by a society of booksellers, who proposed to purchase any copies offered to them, at a price to be settled by two persons ; but though he imagined he should get a considerable sum of money on this occasion, which his f amly were in urgent need of, he protested he would not leave Joseph in his present condition ; finally, he told him, " He had nine shillings and threepence half- penny in his pocket, which he was welcome to use as he pleased." This goodness of Parson Adams brought tears into Jo- seph's eyes ; he declared, " He had now a second reason to desire Mfe, that he might show his gratitude to such a friend." Adams bade him " be cheerful ; for that he Mssi'sr A^mfJWB. si ■MM plidfB'ly ynw LllO 'yl!1^6fttt, Itegifles -Hs i^orance, desired to make a merit of curing him, though the wounds in his head, he percei'ved, 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 sorfe from the brusies, but had no rea- son to think any of his bones injured, or that he had re- ceived any harm in his iiiside, unless that he felt something very odd in his stomach' ; but he knew not whether that might not arise from not having eaten one morsel for above twenty-four hours. " Beiig then asked if he had any in- clination to eat, he answered in the affirmative. Then Par- son Adams desired him to " name what he had the greatest fancy for: whether a poached egg, or chicken-broth." He answsr«^""He eouM eat both very well ; but that he seemed 65 have ■$© greatest appetite for a piece 'U boiled beef anda cabbage." AdarnKwas pfeased with so perfect a confirTJiflM.Mi that he had not the Teast feVer, but advised him to a ligLt^r diet for that evening. He accordingly ate either a rabbit or a fowlj I never could with any tolerable certainty discover which ; after this he was, by Mrs. Tow-wouse's order, conveyed into a better bed and equipped with one of her husband's shirts. In the morning early, Barnabas and the surgeon came to the inn, in order to see the thief conveyed before the jus- tice. 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 in- terested in the prosecution ; neither of 'them, had ever re- ceived any private injury from the f elk^ f, nor had either of them ever been suspected of loving the %)ublic well enough to give them a sermon or a dose of phv^'c for nothing. 82 THE AD VENTURik OF To help our reader, therefore, as nfech as possible to ac- count 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, spirit- ual and physical, concerning their abilities in a science in which, as neither of them professed it, they had equal pre- tensions to dispute each other's opinions. These disputes were carried on with great contempt on both sides, and had almost divided the parish, Mr. Tow-wouse and one half of the neighbors inclining to the siu'geon, and Mrs. Tow-wouse with the other half to the parson. The surgeon drew his knowledge from those inestimable fountains, called The Attorney's Pocket Companion, and Mr. Jacob's Law- Tables ; Barnabas trusted entirely to Wood's Institutes. It happened on this occasion, as was pretty frequently the case, that these two learned men differed about the suf- ficiency of evidence, the doctor being of opinion that the maid's oath would convict the prisoner without producing the gold ; the parson, e contra, totis viribus. To display their parts, therefore, before the justice and the parish, was the sole motive which we can discover to this zeal which both of them pretended to have for public justice. O VanityJ how httle is thy force acknowledged, or thy operations discerned ! How wantonly dost thou deceive mankind under different disguises ! Sometimes thou dost wear the face of pity, sometimes of generosity ; nay, thou hast the assurance even to put on those -glorious ornaments which belong only tp heroic virtue. Thou odious, deformed monster ! whom ppests have railed at, philosophers de- spised, and poets ric^iculed ; is there a wretch so abandoned as to own thee fo;r an acquaintance in public ? — yet how few will refuse J "enjoy thee in private ? nay, thou art the pursuit of most P%n through their lives. The greatest vil- lanies are daily pjl^etised to please thee ; nor is the meanest thief below, or tf j greatest hero above, thy notice. Thy JOSEPH ANDREWS. 83 embraces are often the sole aim and sole reward of the pri- vate 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 do. All our passions are thy slaves. Avarice itself is often nojQOie — thai L thy handmaid, a nd even Lust thy pimp. T he bully Fear, like a coward, flies before thee., and J ov and Grri ef hide their head sin thyjgresence. I know thou wilt thinkthat whilst I 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 di- gression as arrant nonsense ; for know, to thy confusion, that I have introduced thee for no other purpose than to I lengthen out a short chapter, and so I return to my history. CHAPTER XVI. THE ESCAPE OF THE THIEF. ME. ADAMs's DISAPPOINTMEirr. THE AKEIVAL OF TWO VEEY EXTEAOEDINAEV PEESONAGES, AND THE INTEODUCTION OF PAESON AIJAMS TO PAESON BAE- NABAB. Baenabas and the surgeon, being returned, as we have said, to the inn, in order to convey the thief before the jus- tice, were greatly concerned to find a small accident had happened, which somewhat disconcerted them ; and this was no other than the thief's escape, who had modestly withdrawn himself by night, declining all ostentation, and not choosing, in imitation of some great men, to distinguish himself at the expense of being pointed at. When the company had retired the evening before, the thief was detained in a room where the constable, and one 84 THE ADVENTURES OF of the young fellows who took him, were planted as his guard. About the second watch a general complaint of drought was made, both by the prisoner and his keepers. Among whom it was at last agreed that the constable should remain on duty, and the young fellow call up the tapster ; in which disposition the latter apprehended not the least danger, as the constable was well armed, and could besides easily summon him back to his assistance, if the prisoner made the least attempt to gain his Hberty. The young fellow had not long left the room before it came into the constable's head that the prisoner might leap on him by surprise, and, thereby preventing him of the use of his weapons, especially the long stafE in which he chiefly confided, might reduce the success of a struggle to an equal chance. He wisely, therefore, to prevent this incon- venience, slipped out of the room himself, and locked the door, waiting without with his staff in his hand, ready lifted to fell the unhappy prisoner if by ill fortune he should attempt to break out. But human life, as hath been discovered by some great man or other (for I would by no means be understood to affect the honor of making any such discovery), very much resembles a game at chess ; for, as in the latter, while a gamester is too attentive to secure himself very strongly on one side the board, he is apt to leave an unguarded opening on the other ; so doth it often happen in life, and so did it happen on this occasion ; for whilst the cautious constable with such wonderful sagacity had possessed himself of the door, he most unhappily forgot the window. The thief, who played on the other side, no sooner pei'- eeived this opening than he began to move that way ; and, finding the passage easy, he took with him the young fel- low'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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 8S beer, was a little surprised to find the constable at the door ; but much more so when, the door being opened, he per- ceived the prisoner had made his escape, and which way. He threw down the beer, and, without uttering any thing to the constable except a hearty curse or two, he nimbly leaped out of the window, and went again in pursuit of his prey, being very unwilling to lose the reward which he had assured himself of. The constable hath not been discharged of suspicion on this account ; it hath been said that, not being concerned in the taking the thief, he could not have been entitled to any part of the reward if he had been convicted ; that the thief had several guineas in his pocket ; that it was very unhkely he should have been guilty of such an oversight ; that his pretence for leaving the room was absurd ; that it was his constant maxim that a wise man never refused money on any conditions ; that at every election he always had sold his vote to both parties, etc. But, notwithstanding these and many other such allega- tions, I am sufficiently convinced of his innocence, having been positively assured of it by those who received their in- formations from his own mouth, which, in the opinion of some moderns, is the best, and indeed only, evidence. AU the family were now up, and with many others as- sembled in the kicthen, where Mr. Tow-wouse was in some tribulation, the surgeon having declared that by law he was hable to be indicted for the thief's escape, as it was out of his house ; he was a little comforted, however, by Mr. Barnabas 's opinion, that as the escape was by night the indictment would not he. 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 Su ckbri be ?" (which was the constable's name) ; " and if he could be in- 86 THE ADVENTURES OF dieted without any harm to his wife and children, I should be glad of it." (Then the beU rung in Joseph's room.) " Why, Betty, John, chamberlain, where the devil are you all ? Have you no ears, or no conscience, not to tend the sick better ? See what the gentleman wants. Why don't you go yourself, Mr. Tow-wouse ? But any one may die for you ; you have no more feeling than a deal board. If a man lived a fortnight in your house without spending a penny, you would never put him in mind of it. See whether he drinks tea or eoiiee for breakfast." " Yes, my dear," cried Tow-wouse. She then asked the doctor and Mr. Barnabas what morning's draught they chose, who an- swered, they had a pot of cider-and at the fire ; which we will leave them merry over, and return to Joseph. He had rose pretty early this morning ; but, though his wounds were far from threatening any danger, he was so sore with the bruises that it was impossible for him to think of undertaking a journey yet ; Mr. Adams, therefore, whose stock was visibly decreased with the expenses of sup- per 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 to borrow three guineas, for which he would put ample security into his hands." Tow-wouse. who expected a watch, or ring, or something of double the value, answered, " He beheved he could furnish him." Upon which Adams, pointing to his saddle-bag, told him, with a face and voice full of solemnity, "that there were in that bag no less than nine volumes of manuscript ser- mons, as well worth a hundred pounds as a shilling was worth twelve pence, and that he would deposit one of the volumes in his hands by way of pledge, not doubting but JOSEPH ANDREWS. 87 that he would have the honesty to return it on his payment 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 neighboring clergy- man in the country ; for," said he, " as to my own part, having never yet dealt in printing, I do not pretend to as- certain the exact value of such things." Tow-wouse, who was a little surprised at the pawn, said (and not without some truth) " that he was no judge of the price of such kind of goods ; and as for money, he really was very short. " Adams answered, " Certainly he would not scruple to lend him three guineas on what was undoubt- edly worth at least ten." The landlord replied, " He did not believe he had so much money in the house, and be- sides, 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 !" though nobody called ; and ran downstairs without any fear of breaking his neck. Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this disappoint- ment, nor knew he what further stratagem to try. He im- mediately apphed to his pipe, his constant friend and com- fort in his afflictions ; and leaning over the rails, he de- voted himself to meditation, 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 — a dress which, added to something comical enough in his countenance, composed a figure Kkely to attract the eyes of those who were not over given to observation. "Whilst he was smoking his pipe in this posture, a coach and six, with a numerous attendance, drove into the inn. There alighted from the coach a young fellow and a brace of pointers, after which another young fellow leaped from the box, and shook the former by the hand ; and both, to- 88 THE ADVENTURES OF gether \rith the dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr. Tow-wouse into an apartment, whither, as they passed, they entertained themselves with the following short facetious dialogue : " Tou 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 1 had only broke your neck, it would have been saving some- body 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 hanged," says the other ; " for five guineas you shall shoot at my a — ." "Done," says the coachman; "I'U pepper you better 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 shilKng a time." " I know his honor 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 weU as his honor I would desire no better livelihood than I could get by my gun." " Pox on you," said the coachman ; " you demolish more game now than your head's worth. There's a bitch, Tow- wouse : by Gr — , she never blinked* a bird in her hfe." " 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 before you make the bet." " If you have a mind for a bet," cries the coach- man, ' ' I will match my spotted dog with your white bitch for a hundred, play or pay." "Done," says the other: "and I'U run Baldface against Slouch with you for another." " No," cries he from the box ; "but I'll ven- * To blink is a term used to signify the dog's passing by a bird with- out pointing at it. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 89 ture Miss Jenny against ' Baldf ace, 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 Hanni- bal with Slouch for a thousand, if you dare ; and I say done first." They were now arrived ; and the reader wiU be very con- tented to leave them, and repair to the kitchen, where Bar- nabas, the surgeon, and an exciseman, were smoking their pipes over some cider-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 Barnabas (for his cassock had been tied up when first he arrived). " Yes, sir," answered the footman, " and one there be but few hke." "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, doc- tor, shall we adjourn into a room, and invite him to take part of a bowl of punch ?" This proposal was immediately agreed to and executed ; and Parson Adams accepting the invitation, much civility passed between the two clergymen, who both declared the great honor they had for the cloth. They had not been long together before they entered into a discourse on small tithes, which continued a full hour, without the doctor or exciseman's having one opportunity to offer a word. It was then proposed to begin a general conversation, and the exciseman opened on foreign affairs ; but a word un- luckily dropping from one of them, introduced a disserta- tion on the hardships suffered by the inferior clergy, 90 THE ADVENTURES OF which, after a long duration, concluded with bringing the nine volumes of sermons on the carpet. Barnabas greatly discouraged poor Adams. He said " the age was so wicked that nobody read sermons : would you thini it, Mr. Adamp ?" said he, " I once intended to print a volume of sermons myself, and they had the approbation of two or three bishops ; but what do you think a book- seller offered me?" "Twelve guineas, perhaps," cried Adams. " Not twelve pence, I assure you," answered Bar- nabas : " nay, the dog refused me a Concordance in ex- change. 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 afterward 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 expect ; for if sermons would have gone down, I believe — I will not be vain ; but to be concise with you, three bishops said they were the best that ever were writ : but indeed there are a pretty moderate number printed already, and not all sold yet." "Pray, sir," said Adams, " to what do you think the numbers may amount ?" " Sir," answered Barnabas, "a bookseller told me he be- lieved 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 TiUotson's sermons ; and I am sure, if a man practised half so much as is in one of those sermons, he will go to heaven." "Doctor," cried Barnabas, "you have a profane way of talking, for which I must reprove you. A man can never have his duty too frequently inculcated^ into him. And as for Tillotson, to be sure he was a good writer, and said things very well ; but comparisons are odious ; another man may write as well as he — I believe there are some of JOSEPH ANDREWS. 91 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 imworthy of being printed ; and I have been informed 1 might procure a very large sum (indeed an immense one) on them." "I doubt that," answered Barnabas : "how- ever, if you desire to make some money of them, perhaps you may sell them by advertising the manuscript sermons of a clergyman lately deceased, all warranted originals, and never printed. And now I think of it, I should be obliged to you, if there be ever a funeral one among them, to lend it rhe ; for I ain this very day to preach a funeral sermon, for which I have not penned a line, though I am to have a double price." Adams answered " he had but one, which he feared would not serve his purpose, being sacred to the memory of a magistrate, who had exerted himself very singu- larly in the preservation of the morality of his neighbors, insomuch that he had neither ale-house nor lewd woman in the parish where he lived." "No," replied Barnabas, " that win not do quite so well ; for the deceased, upon w^hose virtues I am to harangu e, was a little too much ad- dicted to liquor, and publicly kept a mistress — I beheve I must take a common sermon, and trost to my memory to introduce something handsome on him. " "To your in- vention rather," said the doctor : " your memory wiU be apter to put you out ; for no man living remembers any thing good of him." With such kind of spiritual discourse they emptied the bowl of punch, paid their reckoning, and separated : Adams and the doctor went up to Joseph, Parson Barnabas departed to celebrate the aforesaid deceased, and the excise- man descended into the cellar to gauge the vessels. Joseph was now ready to sit down to a loin of mutton, and waited for Mr. Adams, when he and the doctor came in. The doctor, having felt his pulse and examined his 92 TBE ADVENTURES OF wounds, declared him much better, which he imputed to that sanative soporiferous drauglit, a medicine " whose -vir- tues," he said, "were never to be sufficiently extolled." And great indeed they must be if Joseph was so much in- debted 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 un- touched in the window ever since its arrival. Joseph passed that day, and the three following, with his friend Adams, in which nothing so remarkable happened as the swift progress of his recovery. As he had an excel- lent habit of body, his wounds were now almost healed ; and his bruises gave him so little uneasiness that he pressed Mr. Adams to let him depart ; told him he should never be able to return sufficient thanks for all his favors, but begged that he might no longer delay his journey to London. Adams, notwithstanding the ignorance, as he conceived it, of Mr. Tow-wouse, and the envy (for such he thought it) of Mr. Barnabas, had great expectations from his sermons : seeing therefore Joseph in so good a way, he told him he would agree to his setting out the next morning in the stage-coach, that he believed he should have sufficient, after the reckoning paid, to procure him one day's convey- ance in it, and afterwards he would be able to get on on foot, or might fee favored with a lift in some neighbor's wagon, 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 pro- ceed 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 eveniQg now coming on, Joseph retired to his cham- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 93 ber, whither the good Adams accompanied him, and took this opportunity to expatiat e on the great mercies God had lately shown him, of which he ought not only to have the deepest inward sense, but likewise to express outward thankfulness for them. They therefore fell both on their knees, and spent a considerable time in prayer and thanks- giving. They had just finished when Betty came in and told Mr. Adams Hr. Barnabas desired to speak to him on some business of consequence belowstairs. 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. CHAPTEE XVII. A PLEASANT DISOOUESE BETWEEN THE TWO PAES0N8 AND THE BOOKSELLER, WHICH WAS BROKE OEF BY AN UN- LUCKY ACCIDENT HAPPENING IN THE INN, WHICH PRO- DUCED A DIALOGUE BETWEEN MRS. TOW-WOUSE AND HER MAID OF NO GENTLE KIND. As soon as Adams came into the room, Mr. Barnabas in- troduced him to the stranger, who was, he told him, a book- seller, and would be as likely to deal with him for his ser- mons as any man whatever. Adams, saluting the stranger, answered Barnabas that he was very much obliged to him ; that nothing could be more convenient, for he had no other business to the great city, and was heartily desirous of re- turning with the young man, who was just recovered of his misfortune. He then snapped his fingers (as was usual with him), and took two or three turns about the room in an ec- stasy. And to induce the bookseller to be as expeditious as possible, as likewise to offer him a better price for his com- 94 THE ADVENTURES OF modity, 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 almost spent, and having a friend then in the same inn, who was just recovered from some wounds he had received from robbers, and was in a most indigent condition. " So that nothing," says he, " could be so opportune for the supplying both our neces- sities as my making an immediate bargain with you. " As soon as he had seated himself, the stranger began in these words : " Sir, I do not care absolutely to deny engag- ing in what my friend Mr. Barnabas recommends ; but ser- mons are mere drugs. The trade is so vastly stocked with them that really, unless they come out with the name of Whitefield or "West ley, or some other such great man, as a bishop, or those sort of people, I don't care to touch ; un- less now it was a sermon preached on the 30th of January ; or we could say in the title-page, pubhshed at the earnest request of the congregation, or the inhabitants ; but, truly, for a dry piece of sermons, I had rather be excused, espe- cially as my hands are so full at present. However, sir, as Mr. Barnabas mentioned them to me, I will, if you please, take the manuscript with me to town, and send you my opinion of it in a very short time." " Oh !" said Adams, " if you desire it, I wiU read two or three discourses as a specimen." This Barnabas, who loved sermons no better than a grocer doth figs, immedi- ately objected to, and advised Adams to let the bookseller have his sermons, telHng him, " If he gave him a direction, he might be certain of a speedy answer," adding, he need not scruple trusting them in his possession. " No," said the bookseller, " if it was a play that had been acted twenty nights together, I believe it would be safe. ' ' Adams did not at all relish the last expression ; he said " he was sorry to hear sermons compared to plays." " Not by me, I assure you," crie4 the bookseller, " though I JOSEPJS AJSFDBEWS. 95 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 instructions to mankind?" said Adams. "Would not an honest mind rather lose money by the one than gain it by the other ?" " If you can find any such, I will not be their hindrance," answered the bookseller ; " but I think those persons who get by preaching sermons are the properest to lose by print- ing them ; for my part, the copy that sells best will be always the best copy in my opinion ; I am no enemy to ser- mons, but because they don't sell ; for 1 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 would reduce us to the example of the primitive ages, forsooth ! and would in- sinuate to the people that a clergyman ought to be always preaching and praying. He pretends to understand the Scripture literally ; and would make mankind believe that the poverty and low estate which was recommended to the church in its infancy, and was only temporary doctrine adapted to her under persecution, was to be preserved in her flourishing and established state. Sir, the principles of Toland, Woolston, and all the freethinkers, are not calcu- lated to do half the mischief as those professed by this fellow and his followers." " Sir," answered Adams, " if Mr. "Whitefield had carried his doctrine no farther than you mention, I should have remained, as I once was, his well-wisher. I am myself as great an enemy to the luxury and splendor of the clergy as he can be. I do not, more than he, by the flourishing 96 THE AD VENTURES OF estate of the Chnrcli, understand the palaces, equipages, dress, furniture, rich dainties, and vast fortunes, of her ministers. Surely those things which savor 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 detest- able 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 de- rogatory to the honor of God than for men to imagine that the all- wise Being will hereafter say to the good and virtu- ous, ' Notwithstanding the purity of thy life, notwithstand- ing that constant rule of virtue and goodness in which you walked upon earth, still as thou didst not believe every thing in the true orthodox manner, thy want of faith shall condemn thee ? ' Or, on the other side, can any doctrine have a more pernicious influence on society than a per- suasion that it will be a good plea for the villain at the last day — ' Lord, it is true I never obeyed one of thy commandments, yet punish me not, for I believe them aU ? ' " "I suppose, sir," said the bookseller, " your ser- mons are of a different kind." "Ay, sir," said Adams, "the contrary, 1 thank heaven, is inculcated in almost every page, or I should belie my own opinion, which hath always been, that a virtuous and good Turk, or heathen, are more acceptable in the sight of their Creator than a vicious and wicked Christian, though his faith was a(s perfectly orthodox as St. Paul himself." "I wish you success," says the bookseller, " but must beg to be excused, as my hands ai-e so very fuU at present ; and indeed 1 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 should be propa- gated which the clergy would cry down ; but if you mean JOSEPH ANDREWS. 97 by the clergy some few designing^ factious men, who have It at heart to eSEaBlBFirane fsToriteschemes^aTthe^pfiee of thi hberty of mankind, and the very esseSeS^if-fellgiiaa, it i8~no£intliej)ower of such persons to decry any book they please ; witness that excellent book called ' A Plain Ac- count of the Nature and End of the Sacrament ' — a book written (if T may venture on the expression) with the pen of an angel, and calculated to restore the true use of Chris- tianity, and of that sacred institution ; for what could tend more to the noble purposes of religion than frequent cheer- ful meetings among the members of a society, in which they should, in the presence of one another, and in the ser- vice of the Supreme Being, make promises of being good, friendly, and benevolent to each other ? Now, this excel- lent book was attacked by a party, but unsuccessfully." At these words Barnabas fell a ringing with all the violence imaginable ; upon which a servant attending, he bid him ' ' bring a biU immediately ; for' that he was in company, for aught he knew, with the dey il himself ; and he ex- pected to hear the Alcoran, the Leviathan, or Voolsto n commended, if he staid a few minutes longer." Adams desired, " as he was so much moved at his mentioning a book which he did without apprehending any possibility of offence, that he would be so kind to propose any objec- tions he had to it, which he would endeavor to answer. ' ' " I propose objections !" said Barnabas ; "I never read a syllable in any such wicked book ; I never saw it in my life, I assure you." Adams was going to answer, when a most hideous uproar began in the inn, Mrs. Tow-wouse, Mr. Tow-wouse, and Betty, all lifting up their voices to- gether ; but Mrs. Tow-wouse's voice, hke a bass viol in a concert, was clearly and distinctly distinguished among the rest, and was heard to articulate the following sounds : " you damn' d villain ! is this the return to all the care I have taken of your family ? This the reward of my virtue ? Is 98 THE ADVENTURES OF this the manner in which you behave to one who brought you a fortune, and preferred you to so many matches, all your betters \ To abuse my bed, my own bed, with my own servant ! but I'll maul the slut : I'll tear her nasty eyes out ! Was ever such a pitiful dog to take up with such a mean trollop ? If she had been a gentlewoman, like my- self, it had been some excuse ; but a beggarly, saucy, dirty servant-maid. Get you out of my house, you whore. " To which she added another name, which we do not care to stain our paper with. It was a monosyllable beginning with a b — , and indeed was the same as if she had pro- nounced the words, she-dog. Which term we shall, to avoid offence, use on this occasion, though indeed both the mistress and maid uttered the above-mentioned b — , a word extremely disgustful to females of the lower sort. Betty had borne all hitherto with patience, and had uttered only lam- entations ; but the last appellation stung her to the quick. " I am a woman as well as yourself," she roared out, " and no she-dog ; and if I have been a little naughty, I am not the first ; if I have been no better than I should be," cried she, sobbing, " that's no reason you should caU me out of my name; my be-betters are wo-worse than me." "Huzzy, huzzy," says Mrs. Tow-wouse, "have you the impudence to answer me ? Did I not catch you, you saucy — " and then again repeated the terrible word so odious to female ears. " I can't bear that name," answered Betty ; " if I have been wicked, I am to answer for it myself in the other world ; but I have done nothing that's unnatural, and I will go out of your house this moment, for I will never bo called she-dog by any mistress in England." Mrs. Tow- wouse then armed herself with the spit, but was prevented ' from executing any dreadful purpose by Mr. Adams, who confined her arms with the strength of a wrist which Her- cules would not have been ashamed of. Mr. Tow-wouse, being caught, as our lawyers express it, with the manner, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 99 and having no defence to make, very prudently withdrew himself ; and Betty committed herself to the protection of the hostler , who, though she could not conceive him pleased with what had happened, was, in her opinion, rather a gentler beast than her mistress. Mrs. Tow-wouse, at the intercession of Mr. Adams, and finding the enemy vanished, began to compose herself, and at length recovered the usual serenity of her temper, in which we will leave her, to open to the reader the steps which led to a catastrophe, common enough, and comical enough too, perhaps, in modern history, yet often fatal to the repose and well-being of families, and the subject of many tragedies, both in hf e and on the stage. CHAPTER XVIII. THE HISTORY OF BBTTr THE CHAMBERMAID, AND AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT OCCASIONED THE VIOLENT SCENE IN THE PEECED- ING CHAPTEK. Betty, who was the occasion of all this hurry, had some good qualities. She had good nature, generosity, and com- passion, but unfortunately her constitution was composed of those warm ingredients which, though the purity of courts or nunneries might have happily controlled them, were by no means able to endure the ticklish situation of a chamber- maid at an inn, who is daily liable to the solicitations of lovers of aU complexions, to the dangerous addresses of fine gentlemen of the army, who sometimes are obliged to reside with them a whole year together, and, above all, are exposed to the caresses of footmen, stage-coachmen, and drawers, all of whom employ the whole artillery of kiss- ing, flattering, bribing, and every other weapon which is to be found in the whole armory of love, against them. 100 THE ADVENTURES OF 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 who had 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 gentleman travelling the west- ern circuit, inoifensive squires, and some of graver charac- ter, were set afire by her charms ! At length, having perfectly recovered the effects of her first unhappy passion, she seemed to have vowed a state of perpetual chastity. She was long deaf to all the sufferings of her lovers, till one day, at a neighboring fair, the rhetoric of John the hostler, with a new straw hat and a pint of wine, made a second conquest over her. She did not, however, feel any of those flames on this occasion which had been the consequence of her former amour ; nor indeed those other ill efliects which prudent young women very justly apprehend from too absolute an indulgence to the pressing endearments of their lovers. This latter, perhaps, was a little owing to her not being entirely constant to John, with whom she permitted Tom Whipwell the stage-coachman, and now and then a hand- some young traveller, to share her favors. Mr. Tow-wouse had for some time cast the languishing eyes of affection on this young maiden. He had laid hold on every opportunity of saying tender things to her, squeez- ing her by the hand, and sometimes kissing her lips ; for, as the violence of his passion had considerably abated 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 abate- ment, 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 desir- JOSEPH ANDBEWS. 101 ous of being shone on, as being more capable of feeling his warmth. Ever since Joseph's arrival, Betty had conceived an ex- traordinary liking to him, which discovered itself more and more as he grew better and better ; till that fatal evening, when, as she was warming his bed, her passion grew to such a height, and so perfectly mastered both her modesty and her reason, that, after many fruitless hints and sly insinu- ations, she at last threw down the warming-pan, and, em- bracing him with great eagerness, swore he was the hand- somest creature she had ever seen. Joseph, in great confusion, leaped from her, and told her he was sor ry to see a voung w oman cast off all regard to modesty ; but she had gone too far to recede, and grew so very indecent that Joseph was obliged, contrary to his inclination, to use some violence to her, and taking her in his arms, he shut her out of the room, and locked the door. How ought man to rejoice that his chastity is always in his own power ; that, if he hath sufficient strength of mind, he hath always a competent strength of body to defend himself, and cannot, like a poor weak woman, be ravished against his will ! Betty was in the most violent agitation at this disappoint- ment. Eage and lust pulled her heart, as vnth two strings, two different ways ; one moment she thought of stabbing Joseph ; the next, of taking him in her arms, and devour- ing 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 itself to her in so many shapes — • of drowning, hanging, poisoning, etc. — that her distracted mind could resolve on none. In this perturbation of spirit it accidentally occurred to her memory that her master's bed was not made ; she therefore went directly to his room, where he happened at that time to be engaged at his bureau. 102 JOSEPH ANDREWS. As soon as slie saw iim she attempted to retire ; but lie called her back, and taking her by the hand, squeezed her so tenderly, at the same time whispering so many soft things into her ears, and then pressed her so closely with his kisses, ' that the vanquished fair one, whose passions were already raised, and which were not so whimsically capricious that one man only could lay them, though, per- haps, she would have rather preferred that one — the van- quished fair one quietly submitted, I say, to her master's will, who had just attained the accomplishment of his bliss when Mrs. Tow-wouse unexpectedly entered the room, and caused all that confusion which we have before seen, and which it is not necessary, at present, to take any further 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 JBetty, the submission of Mr. Tow-wouse, with some things to be performed on his side by way of gratitude for his wife's goodness in being reconciled to him, with many hearty promises never to offend any more in the like manner ; and, lastly, his quietly and contentedly bearing to be reminded of his transgres- sions, as a kind of penance, once or twice a day during the residue of his life. BOOK II. CHAPTER I. OF DIVISIONS IN AUTHOES. Theee are certain mysteries or secrets in all trades, from the highest to the lowest, from that of prime-ministering to this of authoring, which-are seldom discovered unless to members of the same calling. Among those used by us gentlemen of the latter occupation, I take this of dividing our works into books and chapters to be none of the least considerable. Now, for want of being truly acquainted with this secret, common readers imagine that by this art of dividing we mean only to swell our works to a much larger bulk than they would otherwise be extended to. These several places, therefore, in our paper which are filled with our books and chapters are understood as so much buckram, stays, and stay-tape in a tailor's bill, serving only to make up the sum total, commonly found at the bottom of our first page and of his last. But in reahty the case is otherwise, and in this as well as all other instances we consult the advantage of our reader, not our own ; and indeed many notable uses arise to him from this method ; for, first, those little spaces between our chapters may be looked upon as an inn or resting-place where he may stop and take a glass or any other refresh- ment as it pleases him. Nay, our fine readers will per- haps be scarce able to travel farther than through one of them in a day. As to those vacant pages which are placed 104 THE ADVENTURES OF between our books, they are to be regarded as those stages where in long journeys the traveller stays some time to re- pose himself, and consider of what he hath seen in the parts he hath already passed through — a consideration which I take the hberty to recommend a little to the reader ; for, however swift his capacity may be, I would not advise him to travel through these pages too fast ; for if he doth, he may probably miss the seeing some curious productions of nature which will be observed by the slower and more accurate reader. A volume without any such places of rest resembles the opening of wilds or seas which tires the eye and fatigues the spirit when entered upon. Secondly, what are the contents prefixed to every chapter but so many inscriptions over the gates of urns (to continue the same metaphor), informing the reader what entertain- ment he is to expect, which, if he likes not, he may travel on to the next ; for, in biography, as we are not tied down to an exact concatenation equally with other historians, so a chapter or two (for instance, this I am now writing) may be often passed over without any injury to the whole. And in these inscriptions I have been as faithful as possible, not imitating the celebrated Montaigne, who promises you one thing and gives you another ; nor some title-page authors, who promise a great deal and produce nothing at all. There are, besides these more obdous benefits, several others which our readers enjoy from this art of dividing, though perhaps most of them too mysterious to be pres- ently understood by any who are not initiated into the sci- ence of authoring. To mention, therefore, but one which is most obvious, it prevents spoiling the beauty of a book by turning down its leaves, a method otherwise necessary to those readers who (though they read with great improve- ment and advantage) are apt, when they return to their study after half an hour's absence, to forget where they left off. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 105 These divisions have the sanction of great antiquity. Homer not only divided his great work into twenty-four books (in comphment perhaps to the twenty-four letters to which he had very particular obligations), but, according to the opinion of some very sagacious critics, hawked them all separately, delivering only one book at a time (probably by subscription). He was the first inventor of the art which hath so long lain dormant, of publishing by numbers— an art now brought to such perfection that even dictionaries are divided and exhibited piecemeal to the public ; nay, one bookseller hath (to encourage learning and ease the public) contrived to give them a dictionary in this divided manner for only fifteen shillings more than it would have cost entire. Yirgil hath given us his poem in twelve books, an argu- ment of his modesty ; for by that, doubtless, he would in- sinuate that he pretends to no more than half the merit of the Greek ; for the same reason, our Milton went originally no farther than ten, till, being puffed up by the praise of his friends, he put himself on the same footing with the Roman poet. I shall not, however, enter so deep into this matter as some very learned critics have done, who have with infi- nite labor and acute discernment discovered what books are proper for embellishment, and what require simpUcity 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 observa- tion : that it becomes an author generally to divide a book as it does a butcher to joint his meat, for such assistance is of great help to both the reader and the carver. And now having indulged myself a little, I will endeavor 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. 106 THE ADVENTURES OF CHAPTER II. A SUEPKISING INSTANCE OF MK. ADAMS's SHORT MBMOET, WITH THE UNFOKTtTNATE CONSEQCTENOES WHICH IT BEOUGHT ON JOSEPH. Mb. Adams and Joseph were now ready to depart differ- ent ways, when an accident determined the former to return with his friend, which Tow-wouse, Barnabas, and the bookseller had not been able to do. This accident was, that those sermons, which the parson was travelling to London to publish, were, O my good reader ! left behind, what he had mistaken for them in the saddlebags being no other than three shirts, a pair of shoes, and some other necessa- ries, which Mrs. Adams, who thought her husband would want shirts more than sermons on his journey, had carefully provided him. This discovery was now luckily owing to the presence of Joseph at the opening the saddlebags, who, having heard his friend say he carried with him nine vohimes of sermons, and not being of that sect of philosophers who can reduce all the matter of the world into a imtshell, seeing there was no room for them in the bags, where the parson had said they were deposited, had the curiosity to cry out, " Bless me, sir, where are your sermons ?" The parson answered, " There, there, child ; there they are, under my shirts." ISTow it happened that he had taken forth his last shirt, and the vehicle remained visibly empty. " Sure, sir," says Joseph, "there is nothing in the bags." Upon which Adams, starting, and testifying some 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 ; JOSEPH ANDREWS. 107 he begged him to pursue his journey, and promised he would himself return with the books to him with the utmost expedition. " No, thank you, child,'' answered Adams; " it shall not be so. What would it avail me to tarry in the great city unless I had my discourses with me, which are ut ita dioam, the sole cause, the aitia monotate of my peregrination ? No, child, as this accident hath happened, I am "resolved to return back to my cure, together with you, which indeed my inclination sufficiently leads me to. This disappointment may perhaps be intended for my good." He concluded with a verse out of Theocritus, which signifies no more than that sometimes it rains, and sometimes the sun shines. Joseph bowed with obedience and thankfulness for the inclination which the parson expressed of returning with him ; and now the bill was called for, which, on examina- tion, amounted within a shilling to the sum Mr. Adams had in his pocket. Perhaps the reader may wonder how he was able to produce a sufficient sum for so many days : that he may not be surprised, therefore, it cannot be unnecessary to acquaint him that he had borrowed a guinea of a servant belonging to the coach and six, who had been formerly one of his parishioners, and whose master, the owner of the coach, then lived within three miles of him ; for so good was the credit of Mr. Adams that even Mr. Peter, the Lady Booby's steward, would have lent him a guinea with v^ery httle security. Mr. Adams discharged the bill, and they were both set- ting out, having agreed to ride and tie, a method of trav- elling much used by persons who have but one horse be- tween 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 outgoes 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, 308 TSE ADVENTURES OF tree, post, or other thing, and then proceed on foot ; when the other comes up to the horse he unties him, mounts, and gallops on, till, having passed by his fellow-traveller, he hkewise arrives at the place of tying. And this is that method of travelling so much in use among our prudent ancestors, who knew that horses had mouths as well as legs, and that they could not use the latter without being at the expense of suffering the beasts themselves to use the former This was the method in use in those days when, instead of a coach and six, a member of parliament's lady used to mount a pillio n_behind her husband ; and a grave sergeant at law condescended to amble to "Westminster on an easy pad, with his clerk kicking his heels behind him. Adams was now gone some minutes, having' insisted on Joseph's beginning the journey on horseback, and Joseph had his foot in the stirrup, when the hostler presented him a bill for the horse's board during his residence at the inn. Joseph said Mr. Adams had paid all ; but this matter, being referred to Mr. Tow-wouse, was by him decided in favor of the hostler, and indeed with truth and justice ; for this was a fresh instance of that shortness of memory which did not arise from want of parts, but that continual hurry in which Parson Adams was always involved. Joseph was now reduced to a dilemma which extremely puzzled him. The sum due for horse-meat was twelve shillings (for Adams, who had borrowed the beast of his clerk, had ordered him to be fed as well as they could feed him), and the cash in his pocket amounted to sixpence (for Adams 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 109 have consented (for such was Joseph's beauty that it had made some impression even on that piece of flint which that good woman wore in her bosom by way of heart). Joseph would have found, therefore, very likely, the passage free had he not, when he honestly discovered the nakedness of his pockets, pulled out that little piece of gold which we have mentioned before. This caused Mrs. 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 an- swered he had such a value for that httle piece of gold that he would not part with it for a hundred times the riches which the greatest esquire in the county 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 !" an- swered Joseph. " What," says Mrs. Tow-wouse, " I sup- pose it was given you by some vile trollop, some miss or other ; if it had been the present of a virtuous woman, you would not have had such 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 com- mended by a lawyer then in the yard, who declared Mr. Tow-wouse might justify the detainer. As we cannot therefore at present get Mr. Joseph out of the inn, we shall leave him in it, and carry our reader on after Parson Adams, who, his mind being perfectly at ease, fell into a contemplation on a passage in -^s chylu s, which entertained him for three miles together, without suffering him once to reilect on his fellow-traveller. At length, having spun out his thread, and being now at the summit of a hill, he cast his eyes backwards, and won- 110 THE ADVENTURES OF dered that lie 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 rea- son which presented itself to him was, that he had met with an acquaintance whe had prevailed with him to delay some time in discourse. He therefore resolved to proceed slowly forwards, not doubting but that he should be shortly overtaken ; and soon came to a large water, which, filling the whole road, he saw no method of passing unless by wading through, which he accordingly did up to his middle, but was no sooner got to the other side than he perceived, if he had looked over the hedge, he would have found a footpath 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 farther, and, if he did not shortly overtake him, to return back, he wished to find a house of public entertainment where he might dry his clothes and re- rfesh himself with a pint ; but seeing no such (for no other reason than because he did not cast his eyes a hundred yards forwards), he sat himseH down on a stile and pulled out his -(Eschylus. A fellow passing presently by, Adams asked him if he could direct him to an ale-house. The fellow, who had just left it, and perceived the house and sign to be within sight, thinking he had jeered him, and being of a morose temper, bade him follow his nose and be d — n'd. Adams told him he was a saucy jackanapes, upon which the fellow turned about angrily ; but perceiving Adams clench his fist, he thought proper to go on without taking any farther notice. A horseman, following immediately after, and being asked the same question, answered. Friend, there is one within a stone's throw ; I believe you may see it before JOSEFS ANDREWS. Ill yon. Artams, lifting np his eyes, cried, I protest, and so there is gi and thanking his informer, proceeded directly to it CHAPTER III. THE OPINION OF TWO LAWYERS CONCEENING THE SAME GEN- TLEMAN, WITH ME. ADAMs's INQUIKY INTO THE RELIGION OE HIS HOST. He had just entered the house, and called for his pint, and seated himself, when two horsemen came to the door, and fastening their horses to the rails, alighted. They said there was a violent shower of rain coming on, which they intended to weather there, and went into a little room by themselves, not perceiving Mr. Adams. One of these immediately asked the other, "If he had seen a more comical adventure a great while?" Upon which the other said, " He doubted whether by law the landlord could justify detaining the horse for his corn and hay." But the former answered, "Undoubtedly he can; it is an adjudged case, and 1 have known it tried." Adams, who, though he was, as the reader may suspect, a little incHned to forgetfulness, never wanted more than a hint to remind him, overhearing their discourse, immediate- ly 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 hkely 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. 112 THE ADVENTURES OF The three travellers then sat down together over a mug of good beer, when Adams, who had observe^^a gentle- man's house as he passed along the road, inquireo' to whom it belonged ; one of the horsemen had no sooner mentioned the owner's name than the other began to revile him in the most opprobrious terms. The English language scarce affords a single reproachful word which he did not vent on this occasion. 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 highway ; that he had injured several poor farmers by trampling their corn under his horse's heels ; and if any of them begged him with the utmost submission to refrain, his horsewhip was always ready to do them justice." He said, " That he was the greatest tyrant to the neighbors in every other instance, and would not suffer a farmer to keep a gun, though he might justify it by law, and in his own family so cruel a master that he never kept a servant a twelvemonth. In his capacity as a justice," continued he, "he behaves so partially that he commits or acquits just as he is in the hu- mor, 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 neighborhood, I would seU it for half the value rather than live near him." Adams shook his head, and said, " He was sorry such men were suffered to proceed with impunity, and that riches could set any man above the law." The reviler, a httle 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 Ms game over a field of com, but he hath always made the party ample satisfaction : that so far from tyrannizing over his neighbors, or taking away their guns, he himself knew JOSEPH ANDREWS. 113 several farmers not qaalified 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 ser- vice ; that he was the best justice of peace in the kingdom, and, to his certain knowledge, had decided many difficult points which were referred to him with the greatest equity and the highest wisdom ; and he verily believed several 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 enco mium when his companion re- turned and acquainted him the itorm was over. Upon which they presently mounted their horses and departed. Adams, who was in the utmost anxiety at those different characters of the same person, asked his host if he knew the gentleman : for he began to imagine they had by mistake been speaking of two several gentlemen. " No, no, mas- ter," answered. the host (a shrewd, cunning fellow), "1 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. I never heard he did any injury of that kind ; and as to making reparation, he is not so free of his money as that comes to neither. Nor did I ever hear of his taking away any man's gun ; nay, I know several who have guns in their houses ; but as for killing game with them, no man is stricter ; and I beHeve 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 servants, and never heard from any of them that he was either one or the other." " Aye ! aye !" says Adams ; " and how doth he behave as a justice, pray ?" "Faith, friend," answered the host, " I question whether he is in the commission ; the only cause 1 have heard he hath decided a great while was one between those very two persons who just went out 114 THE ADVENTURES OF of this hoTise ; and I am sure he determined that justly, for I heard the whole matter. " "Which did he decide it in favor of ?" quoth Adams. " I think I need not answer that question," cried the host, " after the different charac- ters you have heard of him. It is not my business to con- tradict gentlemen while they are drinking in my house ; but I fcaew neither of them spoke a syllable of truth." " God forbid !" said Adams, " that men should arrive at such a pitch of wickedness to beHe the character of their neighbor from a little private affection, or, what is infin- itely worse, a private spite. I rather believe we have mis- taken them, and they mean two other persons, for there are many houses on the road." " Why, prithee, friend," cries the host, " dost thou pretend never to have told a he in thy life ?" "Never a malicious one, I am certain," answered Adams, " nor with a design to injure the reputa- tion of any man living." " Pugh ! maUcious ! 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 oneself, one must speak better of a friend than an enemy." " Out of love to yourself, you should confine yourself to truth," says Adams, " for by doing otherwise you injure the noblest part of yourself — ^your immortal soul. I can hardly believe any man such an idiotyto risk the loss of that by any trifling gain, and the greatest gain in this world is but dirt in comparison of what shall be revealed here- after." 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 beheve in another world?" To which the host answered, "Yes; he was no atheist." "And you believe you have an immortal soul?" cries Adams. He answered, "God forbid he should not." "And heaven and hell ?" said the parson. The host then bid him " not to profane ; for those were things not to be mentioned nor JOSEFS ANDREWS. 115 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 Hfe ?" " I go to church," answered the host, " to say my prayers and behave godly." " And dost not thou," cried Adams, "believe what thou hearest at church ?" •'' Most part of it, master," returned the host. " And dost not thou then tremble," cries Adams, " at the thought of eternal punishment ?" "As for that, master," said he, " I never once thought about it ; but what signi- fies talking about matter 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 passengers he had in his coach ? "A parcel of squinny-gut b — s," says he ; "I have a good mind to overturn them ; you won't prevail upon them to drink any thing, I assure you." Adams asked him " if he had not seen a young man on horseback on the road" (de- scribing Joseph). " Ay," said the coachman, " a gentle- woman in my coach that is his acquaintance redeemed him and his horse ; he would have been here before this time had not the storm driven him to shelter." " God bless her !" said Adams in a rapture ; nor could he delay walking out to satisfy himself who this charitable woman was ; but what was his surprise when he saw his old acquaintance. Madam Slipslop ? Hers indeed was not so great, because she had been informed by Joseph that he was on the road. Yery civil were the salutations on both sides ; and Mrs. Slipslop rebuked the hostess for denjdng the gentleman to be there when she asked for him ; but indeed the poor woman had not erred designedly, for Mrs. Slipslop asked for a clergyman, and she had unhappily mistaken Adams for a person travelling to a neighboring fair with the thim- ble and button, or some other such operation ; for he marched in a swinging great but short white coat with black 116 THE ADVENTURES OF buttons, a short wig, and a hat wMcli, so far from having a black hatband, had nothing black about it. Joseph was now come up, and Mrs. Slipslop would have had him quit his horse to the parson, and come himself into the coach ; but he absolutely refused, saying he thanked heaven he was well enough recovered to be very able to ride ; and added, he hoped he knew his duty better than to ride in a coach while Mr. Adams was on horseback. Mrs. Slipslop would have persisted longer had not a lady in the coach put a short end to the dispute by refusing to puffer a fellow in a livery to ride in the same coach with herseK ; so it was at length agreed that Adams should fill the vacant place in the coach, and Joseph should proceed on horseback. They liad not proceeded far before Mrs. Slipslop, ad- dressing herself to the parson, spoke thus : " There hath been a strange alteration in our family, Mr. Adams, since Sir Thomas's death." " A strange alteration indeed," says Adams, " as I gather from some hints which have dropped from Joseph." "Ay," says she, "I could never have believed it ; but the longer one lives in the world the more one sees. So Joseph hath given you hints." "But of what nature will always remain a perfect secret with me," cries the parson. ' ' He forced me to promise before he would communicate any thing. I am indeed concerned to find her ladyship behave in so unbecoming a manner. I always thought her in the main a good lady, and should never have suspected her of thoughts so unworthy a Christian, and with a young lad her own servant. " " These things are no secrets to me, I assure you," cries Slipslop, " and I believe they will be none anywhere 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," says Adams, ' ' for she was a good sort of a lady. Indeed, I have often wished she had attended a little more con- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 117 stantly at the service, but she hath done a great deal of good in the parish." "Oh, Mr. Adams," says Slipslop, "people that don't see all often know nothing. Many things hare been given away in our family, I do assure you, without her knowledge. I 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 Uved, and would have done infinite good if he had not been controlled ; but he loved a quiet life, heaven rest his soul ! I am confident 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 lier master) had not formerly been of another opinion. " " I don't know," replied she, " what I might once tliink ; but now I am confi(Jous 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 op- posite to a great house which stood at some distan'ce 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 aiithor 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 soUeited the lady to acquaint tliem with Leonora's history, since it seemed, by what she had said, to contain something remarkable. The lady, who was perfectly well bred, did not require i many entreaties, and having only wished their entertain- ment might make amends for the company's attention, she began in the following manner. 118 THE ADVENTtJRES OF CHAPTEE rV. THE HISTORY OF LEONOEA, OE THE UNFOETTJNATE JILT. Leonoea was the daughter of a gentleman of fortune. Sh"e~was tall and well-shaped, with a sprightliness in her countenance which often attracts beyond more regular fea- tures joined with an insipid air : nor is this kind of beauty less apt to deceive than allure ; the good humor which it indicates being often mistaken for good nature, and the vi- vacity for true understanding. Leonora, who was now at the age of eighteen, lived with an aunt of hers in a town in the north of England. She was an extreme lover of gayety, and very rarely missed a ball or any other public assembly, where she had frequent opportunities of satisfying a greedy appetite of vanity, with the preference which was given her by the men to almost every other woman present. Among many young fellows who were particular in their gallantries towards her, Horatio soon distinguished himself in her eyes beyond all his competitors ; she danced with more than ordinary gayety when he happened to be her partner ; neither the fairness of the evening, nor the music of the nightingale, could lengthen her walk like his com- pany. She affected no longer to understand the civilities of others, whilst she inclined so attentive an ear to every comphment of Horatio, that she often smiled even when it was too delicate for her comprehension. "Pray, madam," says Adams, "who was this squire Horatio ?" Horatio , says the lady, was a young gentleman of a good family, bred to the law, and had been some few years called to the degree of a barrister. His face and person were such as the generality allowed handsome ; but he had a JOSEPH AJSFBBEWS. 119 dignity in his air very rarely to be seen. His temper was of the saturnin e complexion, but without the least taint of moroseness. He had wit and htimor, with an inchnation to satire, whicli he indulged rather too much. This gentleman, who had contracted the most violent passion for Leonora, was the last person who perceived the probability of its success. The whole town had made the match for him before he himself had drawn a confidence from her actions sufiBcient to mention his passion to her ; for it was his opinion (and perhaps he was there in the right) that it is highly impolitic to talk seriously of love to a woman before you have made such a progress in her 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 favor conferred on a rival, and to see the little advances towards themselves through the other end of the perspective, it was impossible that Ho- ratio's passion should so blind his discernment as to pre- vent his conceiving hopes from the behavior of Leonora, whose fondness for him was now as visible to an indifferent person in their company as his for her. " I never knew any of these forward sluts come to good" (says the lady who refused Joseph's entrance into the coach), " nor shall I wonder at any thing she doth in the sequel." The lady proceeded in her story thus : It was in the midst of a gay conversation in the walks one evening, when Ho- ratio whispered Leonora that he was desirous to take a tiirn or two with her in private, for that he had something to communicate to her of great consequence. " Are you sure it is of consequence?" said she, smiling. "I hope," an- swered he, " you will think so too, since the whole future happiness of my life must depend on the event." Leonora, who very much suspected what was coming, would have deferred it till another time ; but Horatio, who 120 THE AD VENTTTBES OF had more than half conquered the difficulty of speaking by the first motion, was so very im^portunate that she at last yielded, and leaving the rest of the company, they turned aside into an unfrequented walk. They had retired far out of the sight of the company, both maintaining a strict silence. At last Horatio made a full stop, and taking Leonora, who stood pale and trem- bling, gently by the hand, he fetched a deep sigh, and then, looking on her eyes with all the tenderness imaginable, he cried out in a faltering accent, " O Leonora ! is it necessary for ine to declare to you on what the fiitue happiness of my life must be founded ? Must I say there is something be- longing to you which is a bar to my happiness, and which, unless you will part with, 1 must be miserable !" " What can that be?" replied Leonora. "No wonder," said he, "you are surprised that I should make an objection to any thing which is yours : yet sure you may guess, since it is the only one which the riches of the world, if they were mine, should purchase for me. Oh, it is that which you nmst 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 sus- pected what his declaration would have been, he should not have decoyed her from her company ; that he had so sur- prised and frighted her that she begged him to convey her back as quick as possible," which he, trembling very near as much as herself, did. " More fool he," cried Slipslop ; " it is a sign he knew very little of oar sect." " Truly, madam," said Adams, " I think you are in the right : I should have insisted to JOSEPH ANDREWS. 121 know a piece of her mind when I had carried matters so far." But Mrs. Grave-airs desired the lady to omit all such fulsome stuff in her story, for that it made her sick. "Well, then, madam, to be as concise as possible, said the lady, many weeks had not passed after this interview before Horatio and Leonora were what they call on a good footing together. All ceremonies except the last were now over ; the writings were now drawn, and every thing was in the utmost forwardness preparati^ to the putting Horatio in possession of all his wishes. I will, if you please, repeat you a letter from each of them, which I have got by heart, and which will give you no small idea of their passion on both sides. Mrs. Gra ve-airs objected to hearing these letters ; but being put to the vote, it was carried against her by all the rest in the coach. Parson Adams contending for it with the utmost vehemence. HOBATIO TO LEONOEA. " How vain, most adorable creature, is the pursuit of pleasure in the absence of an object to which the mind is entirely devoted, unless it have some relation to that ob- ject ! I was last night condemned to the society of men of wit and learning, which, however agreeable it might have formerly been to me, now only gave me a suspicion that they imputed my absence in conversation to the true cause. For which reason, when your engagements forbid me the ecstatic happiness of seeing you, I am always desirous to be alone, since my sentiments for Leonora are so delicate that I cannot bear the apprehension of another's prying into those delightful endearments with which the warm imagi- nation of a lover will sometimes indulge him, and which I suspect my eyes then betray. To fear this discovery of oui: thoughts may perhaps appear too ridiculous a nicety to minds not susceptible of all the tendernesses of this delicate 133 THE AD VENTURES OF passion. And surely we sliall suspect there are few such when we consider that it requires every human virtue to exert itseK in its full extent, since the beloved, whose hap- piness it ultimately respects, may give us charming oppor- tunities of being brave in her defence, generous to her wants, compassionate to her afflictions, grateful to her kind- ness ; 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 suggest to you the uneasi- ness I bear from those Hberties 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 I shall experience the falsehood of a common assertion that the greatest human happiness consists in hope ? A doctrine which no person had ever stronger reason to believe than myself at present, since none ever tasted such bliss as fires my bosom with the thoughts of spending my future days with such a companion, and that every action of my life will have the glorious satisfac- tion of conducing to your happiness." LEONORA TO HOEATIO.* " The refinement of your mind has been so evidently proved by every word and action ever since I had the first pleasure of knowing you that I thought it impossible my good opinion of Horatio could have been heightened to any additional proof of merit. This very thought was my amusement when I received your last letter, which, when I opened, I confess I was surprised to find the delicate senti- * This letter was written by a young lady on reading the former. JOSEPH AN-DREWS. 133 ments expressed there so far exceeding wliat I thought could come even from you (although I know all the gener- ous principles human nature is capable of are centred in your breast), that words cannot paint what I feel on the reflection that my happiness shall be the ultimate end of all your actions. "Oh, Horatio ! what a life must that be where the meanest domestic cares are sweetened by the pleasing con- sideration that the man on earth who best deserves, and to whom you are most inclined to give, your affections, is to reap either profit or pleasure from all you do ! In such a case toils must be turned into diversions, and nothing but the unavoidable inconveniences of Ufe can make us remem- ber that we are mortal. ' ' If the solitary turn of your thoughts, and the desire of keeping them undiscovered, makes even the conversation of men of wit and learning tedious to you, what anxious hours must I spend, who am condemned by custom to the conversation of women, whose natural curiosity leads them to pry into all my thoughts, and whose envy can never suffer Horatio's heart to 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 pos- sibly have any excuse, or even alleviation, it is in this case, where the good is so great, and it must be equally natural to all to wish it for themselves ; nor am I ashamed to own it, and to your merit, Horatio, I am obhged, that prevents my being in that most uneasy of all the situations 1 can figure in my imagination, of being led by inclination to love the person whom my own judgment forces me to con- demn." Matters were in so great forwardness between this fond couple that the day was fixed for their marriage, and was now within a fortnight, when the sessions chanced to be 134 THE ADVENTURES OF held for that coanty 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 ; T have attended at one of these quarter-sessions, where I observed the counsel taught the justices, instead of learning anything of them." It is not very material, said the lady. Hither repaired Horatio, who, as he hoped by his profession to advance his fortune, which was not at present very large, for the sake of his dear Leonora, he resolved to spare no pains, nor lose any opportunity of improving or advancing himself in it. The same afternoon in which he left the town, as Leo- nora stood at her window a coach and six passed by, which she declared to be the completest, genteelest, prettiest equipage she ever saw, adding these remarkable words, "01 am in love with that equipage !" which, though her friend Florella at that time did not greatly regard, she hath since remembered. In the evening an assembly was held, which Leonora honored with her company ; but intended to pay her dear Horatio the compliment of refusing to dance in his absence. why have not women as good resolution to maintain their vows as they have often good inclinations in making them ! The gentleman who owned the coach and six came to the assembly. His clothes were as remarkably fine as his equipage could be. He soon attracted the eyes of the com- JOSEPS ANDREWS. 125 pany ; all the smarts, all the silk waistcoats with silver and gold edgings, were echpsed in an instant. "Madam," said Adams, "if it be not impertinent, 1 should be glad to know how this gentleman was dressed." " Sir," answered the lady, " I have been told he had on a cut velvet coat, of a cinnamon color, hned with pink satin, embroidered all over with gold ; his waistcoat, which was cloth of silver, was embroidered with gold likewise. I can- not be paartieular as to the rest of his dress ; but it was all in the French fashion, for Bellarmine (that was his name) was just arrived from Paris. ' ' This fine figure did not more entirely engage the eyes of every lady in the assembly than Lenora 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, endeavored by all possible means to prevent, many of them saying to Leonora, ' ' O madam ! I suppose we shan't have the pleasure of seeing you dance to-night," and then crying out, in Bellarmine's hearing, " O ! Leonora will not dance, I assure you; her partner is not here." One maliciously attempted to prevent her, by sending a disagreeable fellow to ask her, that so she might be obliged either to dance with him, or sit down ; but this scheme proved abortive. Leonora saw herself admired by the fine stranger, and envied by every woman present. Her little heart began to flutter within her, and her head was agitated with a con- vulsive motion ; she seemed as if she would speak ta sev- eral of her acquaintance, but had nothing to say ; for, as she would not mention her present triumph, so she could not 126 THE ADVENTURES OF disengage her thouglats one moment from the contempla- tion of it. She had never tasted any thing like this happi- ness. She had before known what it was to torment a single woman ; hut to be hated and secretly cursed by a whole assembly was a joy reserved for this blessed moment. As this vast profusion of ecstasy had confounded her understanding, so there was nothing so foolish as her be- havior ; 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 absurb as her desires, which were to effect an insensibility of the stranger's admiration, and at the same time a triumph, from that admiration, over every woman in the room. In this temper of mind Bellarmine, having inquired who she was, advanced to her, and with a low bow begged the honor of dancing with her, which she, with as low a cour- tesy, immediately granted. She danced with him all night, and enjoyed perhaps the highest pleasure that she was capable of feeling. At these words Adams fetched a deep groan, which frighted the ladies, who told him " they hoped he was not ill." He answered, "He groaned only for the folly of Leonora." Leonora retired (continued the lady) about six in the morning, but not to rest. She tumbled and tossed in her bed, with very short intervals of sleep, and those entirely fiUed with dreams of the equipage and fine clothes she had seen, and the balls, operas, and rigottos, which had been the subject of their conversation. In the afternoon Bellarmine, in the dear coach and six, came to wait on her. He was indeed charmed with her per- son, and was, on inquiry, so well pleased with the circum- stances of her father (for he himself, notwithstanding all his finery, was not quite so rich as a Croesus or an Attalus ). " Attalus," says Mr. Adams ; " but pray, how came you JOSEPH ANDREWS. 137 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 hrisloiess that he quickly baffled her weak repulses, and obliged the lady to refer him to her father, who, she knew, would quickly declare in favor of a coach and six. , Thus what Horatio had by sighs and tears, love and ten- derness, been so long obtaining, the French -English Bellar- mine with gayety and gallantry possessed himself of in an instant. In otier words, what modesty had employed a full year in raising, impudence demolished in twenty-four hours. Here Adams groaned a second time, but the ladies, who began to smoke, took no notice. From the opening of the assembly till the end of Bellar- - mine's visit, Leonora had 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 equipage before matters had gone so far. "Yet why," says she, "should I wish to have seen him before ; or what signifies it that I have seen him now ? Is not Horatio my lover, almost my husband ? Is he not as handsome, nay, handsomer, than Bellarmine ? Ay, 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 the world ? Ay, but yesterday I had not seen Bellarmine. But doth not Horatio doat on me, and may he not in despair break his heart if I abandon him ? Well, and hath not Bellarmine a heart to break too ? Yes, but I promised Horatio first ; but that was poor Bellarmine's misfortune ; if I had seen him first, I should certainly have preferred him. Did not the dear creature prefer me to every woman in the assembly, when every she 128 THE ADVENTURES OF was laying out for Iiiin ? When was it in Horatio's power to give me such an instance of affection ? Can lie give me an equipage, or any of those things which Bellarmine will make me mistress of ? How vast is the difference between being the wife of a poor counsellor and the wife of one of Bellarmine's fortune ! If I marry Horatio, I shall triumph over no more than one rival ; but by marrying Bellarmine I shall be the envy of all my acquaintance. What happi- ness ! But can I suffer Horatio to die ? for he hath sworn he cannot survive my loss ; but perhaps he may not die ; if he should, can I prevent it ? Must I sacrifice myself to him ? besides, Bellarmine may be as miserable for me too." She was thus arguing with herself when some young ladies called her to the walks, and a little relieved her anxiety for the present. The next morning Bellarmine breakfasted with her in pres- ence of her aunt, whom he sufficiently informed of his pas- sion 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 prefer- ment." Leonora, 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 yet in your power to break them. Will any woman hesitate a moment whether she shall ride in a coach or walk on foot all the days of her hfe ? But Bellarmine drives six, and Horatio not even a pair." Yes, but madam, what will the world say ?" answered Leonora ; " will not they condemn me?" " The world is always on the side of prudence," cries the aunt, " and would surely condemn you if you sacrificed your interest to any motive whatever. O I know the world very well ; and you show your ignorance, my dear, by your objection. O' my conscience ! the world is wiser. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 139 I have lived longer in it than you ; and I assure you there \ is not any thing vs^orth our regard besides money ; nor did I ever knovr one person who married from other considera- tions who did not afterwards heartily repent it. Besides, if we examine the two men, can you prefer a sneaking fel- low, who hath been bred at the university, to a fine gentle- man just come from his travels ? All the world must allow Bellarmine to be a fine gentleman, positively a fine gentle- man, and a handsome man." " Perhaps, madam, I should not doubt, if 1 knew how to be handsomely off with the other." "O leave that to me!" says the aunt. "You know your father had not been acquainted with the affair. Indeed, for my part I thought it might do well enough, not dreaming of such an offer ; but I'll disengage you ; leave me to give the fellow an answer. I warrant you shall have no farther trouble. " Leonora was at length satisfied with her aunt's reason- ing, 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 consum- mated 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 can cut, madam ; they can't cut. If you observe how this skirt is turned, and this sleeve ; a clumsy English rascal can do nothing . like it. Pray, how do you like my liveries ?" Lenonora answered, " she thought them very pretty." " All French," says he, " I assure you, except the great-coats; I never trust any thing more than a great-coat to an Englishman. You know one must encourage our own people what one can, espe- cially 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 130 THE ADVENTURES OF the bottom of the sea rather than wear a single rag of Eng- lish work about me ; and 1 am sure, after you have made one tour to Paris, you will be of the same opinion with re- gard to your own clothes. You can't conceive what an addition a French dress would be to your beauty ; I posi- tively assure you, at the first opera 1 saw since I came over, I mistook the English ladies for chambermaids, he, he, he !" With such sort of polite discourse did the gay Bellarmine entertain his beloved Leonoi-a, when the door opened on a sudden, and Horatio entered the room. Here 'tis impossi- ble to express the surprise of Leonora. " Poor woman !" says Mrs. Slipslop ; " what a terrible quandary she must be in!" " ISTot at all," says Mre. Grave-airs; "such sluts can never be confounded." " She must have then more than Corinthian assurance," said Mr. Adams ; "ay, more than Lais herself." A long silence, continued the lady, prevailed in the whole company. If the familiar entrance of Horatio struct the greatest astonishment into Bellarmine, the unex pected presence of Bellarmine no less surprised Horatio. At length, Leonora, collecting all the spirit she was mis- tress of, addressed herself to the latter, and pretended to wonder at the reason of so late a visit. " 1 should, in- deed, ' ' answered he, ' ' have made some apology for dis- turbing you at this hour, had not my finding you in com- pany assured jne I do not break in upon your repose. Bel- larmine rose from his chair, traversed the room in a minuet step, and Immmed an opera tune, while Horatio, advancmg 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 of mine yet," add- ing, " she could not guess the meaning of his question." Horatio told her softly, " It did not arise from jealousy." " Jealousy ! I assure you it would be verjr strange in a JOSEPH ANDREWS. 131 common acquaintance to give himself any of tliose 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 1 desire to know who this gentleman is who is to be intrusted with all our secrets." " You'll know soon enough," cries Leo- nora ; "but I can't guess what secrets can ever pass between us of such mighty consequence." "No, madam!" cries Horatio, " I am sure you would not have me understand you in earnest." " 'Tis indifferent to me," says she, " how you understand me ; but I think so unseasonable a visit is difficult to be understood at all, at least when people find one engaged ; though one's servants do not deny one, one may expect a well-bred person should soon take the hint." " Madam," said Horatio, " I did not imagine any engagement with a stranger, as it seems this gentleman is, would have made my visit impertinent, or that any such ceremonies were to be preserved between persons in our situation." " Sare you are in a dream," says she, "or would persuade me that I am in one. I know no preten- sions a common acquaintance can have to lay aside the cere- monies of good breeding." " Sure," said he, " I am in a dream, for it is impossible I should be really esteemed a common acquaintance by Leonora after what has passed between us ?" " Passed between us ! Do you intend to affront me before this gentleman ?" " D — n me, affront the lady," says Bellarmine, cocking his hat, and strutting up to Horatio ; " does any man dare affront this lady be- fore me, d — n me?" " Hark'ee sir," says Horatio, "I would advise you to lay aside that fierce air ; for I am mightily deceived if this lady has not a violent desire to get 132 THE AB VENTURES OF your worship a good drubbing." " Sir," said Bellarmine, " I have the honor to be her protector ; and, d — n me, if I understand your meaning." " Sir," ^.nswered Horatio, " she is rather your protectress ; but give yourself no more airs, for you see 1 am prepared for you" (shaking his whip at him). " Oh ! serviteur tres hiorrible,^^ says Bellarmine ; "t/e vous entend parfaitinent'bien.''^ At which time the aunt, who had heard of Horatio's visit, entered the room, and soon satisfied all his doubts. She convinced him that he was never more awake in his life, and that nothing more extraordinary had happened in his three days' absence than a small alteration in the affections of Leonora, who now burst into tears, and wondered what reason she had given him to use her in so barbarous a manner. Horatio desired Bellarmine to withdraw with him ; but the ladies pre- vented it by laying violent hands on the latter ; upon which the former took his leave without any great ceremony, and departed, leaving the lady with his rival to consult for his safety, which Leonora feared her indiscretion might have endangered ; but the aunt comforted her with assurances that Horatio would not venture his person against so accom- plished a cavaher as Bellarmine, and that, being a lawyer, he would seek revenge in his own way, and the most they had to apprehend from him was an action. They at length therefore agreed to permit Bellarmine to retire to his lodgings, having first settled all matters relat- ing to the journey which he was to undertake in the morn- ing, and their preparations for the nuptials at his return. But, alas ! as wise men have observed, the seat of valor is not the countenance ; and many a grave and plain man will, on a just provocation, betake himself to that mischiev- ous metal, cold iron, while men of a fiercer brow, and sometimes with that emblem of courage, a cockade, will more prudently decline it. Leonora was waked in the morning, from a visionary JOSEPH ANDREWS. 133 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 siu-geons 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 endeavor to regain the affections of Horatio." "Speak not to me," cried the disconsolate Leonora ; " is it not owing to me that poor Bellarmine has lost his life ? Have not these ciirsed 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 miu'deress of the finest gentleman ? No other woman in the town could have made any impression on him. " " Never think of things past," cries the aunt; "think of regaining the affections of Horatio." "What reason," said the niece, "have I to hope he would forgive me ? No, I have lost him as well as the other, and it was your wicked advice which was the occasion of all ; you seduced me, contrary to my in- clinations, to abandon poor Horatio" (at which words she burst into teai-s) ; "you prevailed upon me, whether T would or no, to give up my affections for him ; had it not been for you, Bellarmine never would have entei'ed into my thoughts ; had not his addi-esses been backed by your per- suasions, they never would have made any impression on me ; I should have defied all the fortune and equipage in 134 TSE ADVENTURES OF tlie world ; but it was you, it was you, who got the better of my youth and simpUcity, 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 sur- prised, niece, at this ingratitude. Those who advise young women for their interest must always expect such a return ; I am convinced my brother will thank me for breaking off your match with Horatio at any rate. " " That may not be in your power yet," answered Leonora, " though it is very ungrateful in you to desire or attempt it, after the presents you have received from him." (For indeed true it is that many presents, and some pretty valuable ones, had passed from Horatio to the old lady ; but as true it is, that Bellar- mine, when he breakfasted with her and her niede, had complimented her with a brilliant from his finger, of much greater value than all she had touched of the other). The aunt's gall was on float to reply, when a servant brought a letter into the room, which Leonora, hearing it came from Bellarmine, with great eagerness opened, and read as follows : " Most Divine Oeeatuee : The wound which I fear you have heard 1 received from my rival is not like to be so fatal as those shot into my heart which have been fired from your eyes, tout hrilUant. 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 honor which I have scarce the hardiesse to think of, your absence will be the greatest anguish which can be felt by, madam, amec toute le respecte in the world, your most obedient, most absolute devote, " Bellaemine. " As soon as Leonora perceived such hopes of Bellarmine's JOSEPH ANDREWS. 135 recovery, and that the gossip Fame had, according to cus- tom, so enlarged his danger, she presently abandoned all further thoughts of Horatio, and was soon reconciled to her aunt, who received her again into favor with a more Chris- 1 tian forgiveness than we generally meet with. Indeed, it is possible she might be a little alarmed at the hints which her niece Jiad given her concerning the presents. She might apprehend such rumors, should they get abroad, might injure a reputation which, by frequenting church twice a day, and preserving the utmost rigor and strictness in her countenance and behavior for many years, she had established. Leonora's passion returned now for Bellarmine with greater force, after its small relaxtion, than ever. She pro- posed to her aunt to make him a visit in his confinement, which the old lady, with gieat and commendable prudence, advised her to decline. " For," says she, " should any acci- dent intervene to prevent your intended match, too for- ward a behavior with this lover may injure you in the eyes of others. Every woman, till she is married, ought to con- sider of, and provide against, the possibility of the affair's breaking off." Leonora said "she should be indifferent to whatever might happen in such a case ; for she had now so absolutely placed her affections on this dear man (so she called him) that, if it was her misfortune to lose him, she j should for ever abandon all thoughts of mankind." She ' therefore resolved to visit him, notwithstanding all the pru- dent advice of her aunt to the contrary, and that very after- noon 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 curiosty and heartily desir- ous of hearing the end of this amour, though he professed 136 THE AB VENTURES OF he could scarce wisli success to a lady of so inconstant a dis- position. CHAPTER V. A. DEEADFUL QUAEEEL WHICH HAPPENED AT THE INN WHEEE THE COMPANY DINED, WITH ITS BLCfODT CONSE- QUENCES TO ME. ADAMS. As soon as the passengers had alighted from the coach, Mr. Adams, as was Ms 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 bor- rowed 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 iutention ; he was often found on his knees when the rider least expected it. This foible, however, was of no great inconvenience to the parson, who was accustomed to it ; and as his legs almost touched the ground when he bestrode the beast, had but a little way to fall, and threw himseK forward on such occasions with so much dexterity that he never received any mischief, the horse and he fre- quently rolhng 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 cat- tle, though an excellent horseman, did not so happily dis- engage 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 cam- p horated spirits, just at the time when the parson entered the kitchen. He had scarce expressed his concern for Joseph's misfor- tune before the host likewise entered. He was by no means of Mr. Tow-wouse's gentle disposition, and was, indeed, ^ .6 ♦^HftffTvITT^ PARSON ADAMS AND THE HOGS' PUDDINGS. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 137 perfect master of his house, and every thing in it but his guests. This surly fellow, who always proportioned his respect to the appearance of a traveller, from " God bless your honor" down to plain " Coming presently," observing his wife on her knees to a footman, cried out, without consider- ing his circumstances, " What a pox is the woman about ? why don't you mind the company in the coach 1 Go and ask them what they will have for dinner." " My dear," says she, " you know they can have nothing but what is at the fire, which will be ready presently ; and really the poor young man's leg is very much bruised." At which words she fell to chafing more violently than before. The bell then happening to ring, he damn'd his wife, and bid her go in to the company, and not stand rubbing there all day, for he did not believe the young fellow's leg was so bad as he pre- tended ; and if it was, within twenty miles he would find a surgeon to cut it oflE. Upon these words Adams fetched two strides across the room ; and snapping his fingers over his head, muttered aloud, He would excommunicate such a wretch for a farthing, for he believed the devil had more hu- manity. These words occasioned a dialogue between Adams and the host, in which there were two or three sharp re- phes, till Joseph bade the latter know how to behave him- self to his betters. At which the host (liaving first strictly surveyed Adams) scornfully repeated the word betters, fiew into a rage, and telling Joseph he was as able to walk out of his house as he had been to walk into it, offered to lay violent hands on him ; which perceiving, Adams dealt liim so sound a compliment over his face with his fist that the blood immediately gushed out of his nose in a stream. The host, being unwilling to be outdone in courtesy, especially by a person of Adams's figure, returned the favor with so much gratitude that the parson's nostrils began to look a little redder than usual. Upon which he again assailed his 138 THE ADVENTURES OF antagonist, and with another stroke laid him sprawling on the floor. The hostess, who was a better wife than so surly a hus- band deserved, seeing her husband all bloody and stretched along, hastened presently to his assistance, or rather to re- venge the blow, which, to all appearance, was the last he would ever receive, when lo ! a pan full of hog's blood, which unluckily stood on the dresser, presented itself first to her hands. She seized it in her fury, and, without any reflection, discharged it into the parson's face, and with so good an aim that much the greater part first saluted his countenance, and trickled thence in so large a current down to his beard, and over his garments, -that a more horrible spectacle was hardly to be seen, or even imagined. All which was perceived by Mrs. Slipslop, who entered the kitchen at that instant. This good gentlewoman, not being of a temper so extremely cool and patient as perhaps was required to ask many questions on this occasion, flew with great impetuosity at the hostess's cap, which, together with some of her hair, she plucked from her head in a moment, giving her, at the same time, several hearty cuffs in the face, which, by frequent practice on the inferior servants, she had learned an excellent knack of delivering with a good grace. Poor Joseph could hardly rise from his chair ; the parson was employed in wiping the blood from his eyes, which had entirely blinded him ; and the landlord waa but just beginning to stir ; whilst Mrs. Slipslop, holding down the landlady's face with her left hand, made so dexterous an use of her right that the poor woman began to roar in a key which alarmed all the company in the inn. There happened to be in the inn at this time, besides the ladies who arrived in the stage-coach, the two gentle- men who were present at Mr. Tow-wouse's when Joseph was detained for his horse's meat, and whom we have be- fore mentioned to have stopped at the ale-house with Adams. JOSEPH AN-DREWS. 139 There was likewise a gentleman just returned from his travels to Italy ; all whom the horrid outcry of murder pres- ently brought into the kitchen, where the several combat- ants were found in the postures already described. It was now no difficulty to put an end to the fray, the conquerors being satisfied with the vengeance tliey had taken, and the conquered having no appetite to renew the fight. The principal figure, and which engaged the eyes of all, was Adams, who was all over covered with blood, wliich the whole company concluded to be his own, and consequently imagined him no longer for this world. But the host, ^vho had now recovered from his blow, and was risen from the ground, soon delivered them from this ap- prehension by danming his wife for wasting the hog's pud- dings, and telling her all would have been very well if she had not intermeddled, like a b — as she was ; adding, he was very glad the gentlewoman had paid her, though not half what she deserved. The poor woman had indeed fared much the worse, having, besides the unmerciful cuffs re- ceived, lost a quantity of hair, which Mrs. Slipslop in tri- umph held in her left hand. The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs. Grave-airs, de- sired her not to be frightened, for here had been only a little boxing, which he said, to their disgracia, the English were acoust&mata 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 cu.ffardo, but ias- toma, says he. He then went up to Adams, and telling him he looked hke 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 msipido del nullo senso. Damnato di me, if I have seen such a speciaeulo in my \v;iy from Viterbo. " 140 THE ADVENTURES OF One of the gentlemen having learned from the host the occasion of this bustle, and being assured by him that Adams had struck the iirst 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 coiirage to suffer any one to beat you without bringing your action against him : he must be a scandalous fellow indeed who would put up with a drubbing whilst the law is open to revenge it ; besides, he hath drawn blood from you, and spoiled your coat ; and the jury wiU give damages for that too. An ex- cellent new coat, upon my word, and now not worth a shil- ling ! I don't care," continued he, " to intermeddle in these cases ; but you have a right to my evidence ; and if I am sworn, I must speak the truth. I saw you sprawling on the floor, and blood gushing from your nostrils. You may take your own opinion ; but was I in your circumstances, every drop of my blood should convey an ounce of gold into my pocket : remember I don't advise you to go to law ; but if your jury were Christians, they must give swinging damages. That's all." " Master, " cried the host, scratch- ing his head, " I have no stomach to law ; I thank you I have seen enough of that in the parish, where two of my neighbors have been at law about a house till they have both lawed themselves into a jail." At which words he turned about, and began to inquire again after his hog's puddings ; nor would it probably have been a sufficient ex- cuse for his wife, that she spilled 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. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 141 Whilst one of the above-mentioned gentlemen was em- ployed, 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 immediately. He said the assault of the wife was in law the assault of the hus- band, for they were but one person ; and he was liable to pay damages, which he said must be considerable, where so bloody a disposition appeared. Adams answered. If it was true that they were but one person, he had assaulted the wife ; for he was sorry to own he had struck the hus- band the first blow. " I am sony 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 conse- quently say nothing but what made for you. " " How, sir," says Adams, " do you take me for a villain, who would prosecute revenge in cold blood, and use unjustifiable means to obtain it ? If you knew me, and my order, I should think you affronted" both. " At the word order the gentleman stared (for he was too bloody to be of any mod- em order of knights) ; and turning hastily about, said, " Every man knew his own business." Matters being now composed, the company retired to their several apartments, the two gentlemen congratulating each other on the success of their good offices in procuring a perfect reconciliation between the contending parties ; and the traveller went to his repast, crying, " as the Italian poet says, ' Je wi very well que tutta 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 Mrs. Grave-airs insisting, against the remonstrances of all tlie rest, that she would not admit a footman into the coach, for poor Joseph was too lame to mount a horse. A young 142 TSE AD VENTURES OF lady, who was, as it seems, an earl's grand-daughter, begged it with almost tears in her eyes. Mr. Adams prayed, and Mrs. Slipslop scolded ; but all to no purpose. She said, " She would not demean herself to ride with a foot- man : that there were wagons on the road : that if the master of the coach desired it, she would pay for two pTaces, but would suffer no such fellow to come in." " Madam," says Shpslop, "I am sure no one can refuse another coming into a stage-coach." "I don't know, madam," says the lady ; " I am not much used to stage- coaches ; I seldom travel in them." "That may be, madam," rephed Slipslop ; " very good people do ; and some people's betters, for aught I know. ' ' Mrs. Grave- airs said, " Some folks might sometimes give their tongues a liberty to some people that were their betters, which did not become them ; for her part, sh^ was not used to converse with servants." Slipslop returned, "Some peo- ple kept no servants to converse with ; for her part, she thanked heaven she lived in a family where there were a great many, and had more under her own command than any paltry little gentlewoman in the kingdom." Mrs. 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 Mrs. Grave-airs, " 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 Ht- tle 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, rid- ing inio the inn, and seeing Mrs. Grave-airs, immediately accosted her with, " Dear child, how do you ?" She pres- ently answered, ' ' O papa ! I am glad you have overtaken me. " "So am I, ' ' answered he ; " for one of our coaches JOSEPH ANDREWS. 143 is just at hand ; and there being room for you in it, you shall go no farther in the stage unless you desire it." " How can you imagine I should desire it ?" says she ; so, bidding Slipslop ride with her fellow, if she pleased, she took her father by the hand, who was just ahghted, and walked with him into a room. Adams instantly asked the coachman, in i whisper, " If he knew who the gentleman was?" The coachman an- swered, " He was now a gentleman, and kept his horse and man ; but times are altered, master," said he ; "I remem- ber when he was no better born than myself. " " Aye ! aye !" says Adams. " My father drove the squire's coach, ' ' answered he, ' ' when that very man rode postilion ; but he is now his steward, and a great gentleman." Adams then snapped his fingers, and cried, " He thought she was some such trollop." Adams made haste to acquaint Mrs. Slipslop with this good news, as he imagined it ; but it found a i-eception different from what he expected. The prudent gentle- woman, who despised the anger of Mrs. Grave-airs whilst she conceived her the daughter of a gentleman of small fortune, now she heard her alliance with the upper ser- vants of a great family in her neighborhood, began to fear her interest with the mistress. She wished she had not car- ried the dispute so far, and began to think of endeavoring to reconcile herself to the young lady before she left the inn ; when, luckily, the scene at London, which the reader can scarce have forgotten, presented itself to her mind, and comforted her with such assurance that she no longer ap- prehended any enemy with her mistress. Every thing being now adjusted, the company entered the coach, which was just on its departure, when one lady recollected she had left her fan, a second her gloves, a third a snuff-box, and a fourth a smelling-bottle behind her ; to 144 THE AD VENTURES OF find all which occasioned some delay, and much swearing, to the coachman. As soon as the coach had left the inn the women all to- gether fell to the character of Mrs. Grave-airs, whom one of them declared she had suspected to be some low crea- ture from the beginning of their journey, and another affirmed she had not even the looks of a gentlewoman ; a third warranted she was no better than she should be ; and turning to the lady who had related the story in the coach, said, " Did you ever hear, madam, any thing so prudish as her remarks ? Well, deliver me from the censoj^ousness of such a prude." The fourth added, "O madam ! all these creatures are censorious ; but for my part, 1 wonder where the wretch was bred ; indeed, I must own I have seldom couversed with these mean land of people, so that it may appear stranger to me ; but to refuse the general de- sire of a whole company hath something in it so astonish- ing that, for my part, I own I should hardly beUeve it if my own ears had not been witnesses 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 Chris- tian 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 her- self for the company of stinking old fellows ; but, hold up thy head, Joseph, thou art none of those ; and she who hath not compulsion for thee is a Myhummetman, and I will maintain it. ' ' This conversation made Joseph uneasy as well as the ladies, who, perceiving the spirits which Mrs. Slipslop was in (for indeed she was not a cup too low), began to fear the consequence ; one of them therefore de- sired the lady to conclude the story. " Ay, madam," said JOSEFS ANDREWS. 145 Slipslop, " I beg yoTir ladyship to give us that story you commensated in the morning," which request that weU- bred woman immediately complied with. CHAPTER VI. CONCLUSION OF THE UNFOETUNATE JILT. Leonora, having once broke through the bounds which custom and modesty impose on her sex, soon gave an un- bridled indulgence to her passion. Her visits to BeUarmine were more constant, as well as longer, than his surgeon's : in a word, she became absolutely his nurse ; made his water gruel, administered him his medicines ; and, notwithstand- ing the prudent advice of her aunt to the contrary, almost entirely resided in her wounded lover's apartment. The ladies of the town began to take her conduct under consideration ; it was the chief topic of discourse at their tea-tables, and was very severely censured by the most part, especially by Lindamira, a lady whose discreet and starch carriage, together with a constant attendance at church three times a day, had utterly defeated many mahcious attacks on her own reputation ; for such was the envy that Linda- mira's virtue had attracted, that, notwithstanding her own strict behavior and strict inquiry into the lives of others, she had not been able to escape being the mark of some arrows herseK, which, however, did her no injury — a bless- ing, perhaps, owed by her to the clergy, who were her chief male companions, and with two or three of whom she had been barbarously and unjustly calumniated . " Not so unjustly neither, perhaps," says SUpslop, " for the clergy are men as well as other folks. The extreme dehcacy of Lindamira's virtue was cruelly hurt by those freedoms which Leonora allowed herself. 146 THE ADVENTURES OF She said, " It was an afEront to lier sex ; that she did not imagine it consistent with any woman's honor 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 re- covered, which was somewhat within a month from his re- ceiving 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 Kke. A Kttle 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 : " SiE : I am sorry to acquaint you that your daughter, Leonora, hath acted one of the basest as well as most sim- ple parts with a young gentleman to whom she had engaged herself, and whom she hath (pardon the word) jilted for another of inferior fortune, notwithstanding his superior figure. You may take what measures you please on this occasion ; I have performed what I thought my duty, as I have, though unknown to you, a very great respect for your family. ' ' The old gentleman did not give himself the trouble to answer this kind epistle ; nor did he take any notice of it, after he had read it, till he saw Bellarmine. He wa^ to say the truth, one of those fathers wh6 look on children as an unhappy consequence of their youthful pleasures ; which, as he would have been dehghted riot to have had attended them, so was he no less pleased with any opportunity to rid himself of the incumbrance. He passed, in the world's JOSEPH ANDREWS. 147 language, as an exceeding good father, being not only so rapacious as to rob and plunder all mankind to the utmost of his power, but even to deny himself the conveniences, and almost necessaries, of life, which his neighbors attrib- uted to a desire of raising immense fortunes for his chil- dren : but in fact it was not so ; he heaped up money for its own sake only, and looked on his children as his rivals, who were to enjoy his beloved mistress when he was incapa- ble of possessing her, and which he would have been much 'more charmed with the power of carrying along with him ; nor had his children any other security of being his heirs than that the law would constitute them such without a will, and that he had not affection enough for any one liv- ing to take the trouble of writing one. To this gentleman came Bellarmine on the errand I have mentioned. His person, his equipage, his family, and his estate, seemed to the father to make him an advantageous match for his daughter. He therefore very readily accepted his proposals ; but when Bellarmine imagined the principal affair concluded, and began to open the incidental matters of fortune, the old gentleman presently changed his coun- tenance, saying, ' ' He resolved never to marry his daughter on a Smithfield match ; that whoever had love for her to take her would, when he died, find her share of his fortune in his coffers ; but he had seen such examples of undutiful- ness happen from the too early generosity of parents, that he had made a vow. never to part with a shilling whilst he lived." He commended the saying of Solomon, "He that spareth the rod spoileth the child ; ' ' but added, ' ' he might have likewise asserted, That he that spareth the purse saveth the child." He then ran into a discourse on the extrava- gance 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 148 THE ADVENTURES OF dwell a little on that subject, was now very eager to resume the circumstance of fortune. He said, ■' He had a very high value for the young lady, and would receive her with less than he would any other whatever ; but that even his love to her made some regard to worldly matters necessary ; for it woidd be a most distracting sight for him to see her, when he had the honor to be her husband, in less than a coach and" six." The old gentleman answered, " Four will do, four will do ;" and then took a turn from horses to ex- travagance, and from extravagance to horses, 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 pres- ent situation of his affairs it was impossible for him, though he loved Leonora more than tout le monde, to marry her without any fortune." To which the father answered, " He was sorry that his daughter must lose so valuable a match ; that if he had an inclination, at present it was not In his power to advance a shilling ; that he had had great losses, and been at great expenses on projects, which, though he had great expectation from them, had yet pro- duced him nothing ; that he did not know what might hap- pen hereafter, as on the birth of a son, or such accident ; but he would make no promise, nor enter into any article, for he would not break his vow for all the daughters in the world. In short, ladies, to keep you no longer in suspense, Bel- larmine, having tried every argument and persuasion which he could invent, and finding them all ineffectual, at length took his leave, but not in order to return to Leonora , he proceeded directly to his own seat, whence, after a few days' stay, he returned to Paris, to the great delight of the French and the honor of the English nation. But as soon as he arrived at his home he presently JOSEPH ANDREWS. 149 dispatched a messenger with the following epistle to Leonora : " Adorable and Chaemaittb : I am sorry to have the honor to tell you I am not the hev/reux person destined for your divine arms. Your papa hath told me so with a,po- litesse not often seen on this side Paris. You may perhaps guess his manner of refusing me. Ah, mon Dieu ! You will certainly believe me, madam, incapable myself of delivering this triste message, which I intend to try the French air to cure the consequences of. A jamais ! Co&ur ! Ange ! Au diahle ! If your papa obliges you to a mar- riage, I hope we shall see you at Paris ; till when, the wind that flows from thence will be the warmest dams le monde, for it will consist almost entirely of my sighs. Adieu, ma prinoesse / Ah, Vhmwv/r ! Bellaemine. )) I shall not attempt, ladies, to describe Leonora's condi- tion when she received this letter. It is a picture of horror, which I should have as little pleasure in drawing as you in beholding. She immediately left the place where she was the subject of conversation and ridicule, and retired to that house I showed you when 1 began the story, where she hath ever since led a disconsolate life, and deserves, perhaps, pity for her misfortunes, more than our censure for a behavior to which the artifices of her aunt very probably contributed, and to which very young women are often rendered too hable by that blamable 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 Ov/r-ashof^ 150 THE ADVENTURES OF He remains, said the lady, still unmarried, and hatli applied himself so strictly to his business that lie hath raised, I hear, a very considerable fortune. And, wliat is remarkable, they say he never hears the name of Leonora without a sigh, nor hath ever uttered one syllable to charge her with her ill-conduct towards him. CHAPTEE VII. A VEET SHOET CHAPTEE, IN WHICH PAESON ADAMS WENT A GEEAT 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 word, and so he is," says Slipslop, " and as sure as two- pence he hath left him behind at the inn." Indeed, true it is, the parson had exhibited a fresh instance of his absence of mind ; for he was so pleased with having got Joseph into the coach that he never once thought of the beast in the stable ; and finding his legs as nimble as he desired, he sallied out, brandishing a crab-stick, and had kept on before the coach, mending and slackening his pace occasionally, so that he had never been much 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. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 151 But we will be more courteous to our reader tlian he was to Mrs. Slipslop ; and leaving the coach and its company to pursue their journey, we will carry our reader on after Parson Adams, who stretched forwards without once looking behind him, till, having left the coach full three miles in his rear, he came to a place where, by keeping the ex- tremest 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^t about three miles over the plain, he arrived at the summit of a hill, whence, looking a great way backwards and perceiving no coach in sight, he sat himself down on the turf, and pull- ing out his -iEschylus, determined to wait here for its ar- rival. He had not sat long here before a gun going off very near a little startled him ; he looked up and saw a gentle- man within a hundred paces taking up a partridge which he had just shot. Adams stood up and presented a figure to the gentleman which would have moved laughter in many ; for his cas- sock had just again fallen down below his great-coat — that is to say, it reached his knees, whereas the skirts of his great- coat descended no lower than half way down his thighs ; but the gentleman's mirth gave way to his surprise at be- holding 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 Httle." "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 perceiv- 152 THE ADVENTURES OF ing a book in liis hand and smoking likewise the informa- tion of the cassock, to change his thoughts, and made a small advance to conversation on his side by saying, " Sir, T suppose you are not one of these parts ?" Adams immediately told him " No ; that he was a travel- ler, and invited by the beauty of the evening and the place to repose a little and amuse himself with reading. " "I may as well repose myself too," said the sportsman, " for I have been out this whole afternoon, and the devil a bird have I seen tiU I came hither." " Perhaps then the game is not very plenty hereabouts V cries Adams. " N"o, sir," said the gentleman; "the soldiers who are quartered in the neighborhood have killed it all." " It is very probable," cries Adams, " for shoot- ing is their profession." " Aye, shooting the game," answered the other ; " but I don't see they are so forward to shoot our enemies. I don't Kke that affair of Cartha- gena ; if I had been there, I believe I should have done other guess-things, d — n me ; what's a man's life when his country demands it ? a man who won't sacrifice his life for his country deserves to be 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 trained-bands at the head of his company ; but Mr. Ad ams was not greatly sub- ject to fear ; he told him intrepidly th at he very~ much approved Bis'virtue, butjlislikeT^hisjvrearingjand begged him not to addict himself to so bad a custom, without which he said he might fight as bravely as Achilles did. Indeed he was charmed with this discourse ; he told the gentleman he would willingly have gone many miles to have met a man of his generous way of thinking ; that if he pleased to sit down he should be greatly delighted to commune with him ; for though he was a clergyman he would himself be ready, if thereto called, to \a.j down his life for his country. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 153 The gentleman sat down, and Adams by Mm ; and tlien 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 Vin. WHEKE- IN THAT GENTLEMjUJ APPEAES 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 thing to be made a bishop ; nay, though it hath not fallen in my way to offer so noble a sacrifice, I have not been with- out opportunities of suffering for the sake of my conscience, I thank heaven for them ; for I have had relations, though 1 say it, who made some figure in the world, particularly a nephew, who was a shopkeeper and an alderman of a cor- poration. He was a good lad, and was under my care when a boy, and I believe would do what I bade him to his dying day. Indeed, it looks like extreme vanity in me to affect being a man of such consequence as to have so great an interest in an alderman ; but others have thought so too, as manifestly appeared by the rector whose curate I formerly was sending for me on the approach of an elec- tion, and telling me if I expected to continue in his cure that I must bring my nephew to vote for one Colonel Courtly, a gentleman whom I had never heard tidings of till that instant. I told the rector I had no power over my nephew's vote (God forgive me for such prevarication !) ; that I supposed he would give it according to his con- science ; that I would by no means endeavor to influence 154 THE ADVENTURES OF him to give it otherwise. He told me it was in vain to equivo- cate ; that he knew I had already spoke to him in favor of Sq uire Fick le, my neighbor ; and indeed it was true 1 had ; for it was at a season when the church was in danger, and when all good men expected they knew not what would happen to us all. I then answered boldly, if he thought I had given my promise he affronted me in proposing any breach of it. Not to be too prolix, I persevered, and so did ray nephew, in the esquire's interest, who was chose chiefly through his means ; and so I lost my curacy. Well, sir, but do you think the esquire ever mentioned a word of the church ? ne verbum quidem, ut ita dicam ; within two years he got a place, and hath ever since hved in Lon- don, where I have been informed (but God forbid I should believe that) that he never so much as goeth to church. 1 remained, sir, a considerable time without any cure, and lived a full month on one funeral sermon, which I preached on the indisposition of a clergyman ; but this by the bye. At last, when Mr. Fickle got his place. Colonel Courtly stood again ; and who should make interest for him but Mr. Fickle himself ! that very identical Mr. Fickle, who had formerly told me the colonel was an enemy to both the church and state, had the confidence to solicit my nephew for him ; and the colonel himself offered me to make me chaplain to his regiment, which I refused in favor 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 Parhament ; 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 me replaced into my curacy, and gave me eight pounds out of his own pocket to buy me a gown and cassock and furnish my house. He had our interest while he lived, which was not JOSEPH ANDREWS. 155 many years. On Ms death I had fresh appKcations made to me ; for all the world knew the interest I had in my good nephew, who now was a leading man in the corpora- tion ; and Sir Thomas Booby, buying the estate which had been Sir OHver'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 line 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 opinion. Non omnia possumus om/nes. He promised me a living, poor man ! and I believe I should have had it, but an accident happened, which was that my lady had promised it before, unknown to him. This indeed 1 never heard till afterwards ; for my nephew, who died about a month before the incumbent, always told me 1 might be assured of it. Since that time. Sir Thomas, poor man ! had always so much business that he never could find leisure to see me. I believe it was partly my lady's fault, too, who did not think my dress good enough for the gentry at her table. However, I must do him the justice to say he never was ungrateful ; and I have always found his kitchen, and his cellar too, open to me : many a time, after service on a Sunday — for I preached at four churches — ^have I recruited my spirits with a glass of his ale. Since my nephew's death, the corporation is in other hands ; and I am not a man of that consequence I was formerly. 1 have now no longer any talents to lay out in the service of my cbuntry ; and to whom nothing is given, of him can nothing be required. However, on all proper seasons, such as the approach of an election, I throw a suitable dash or two into my sermons, which I have the pleas- 156 THE ADVENTURES OF lire to tear is not disagreeable to Sir Thomas and tlie other honest gentlemen my neighbors, who have all promised me these five years to procure an ordination for a son of mine, who is now near thirty, hath an infinite stock of learning, and is, I thank heaven, of an unexceptionable life ; though, as he was never at 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 endeavored to do before him ; nay, and wiU lay down his Ufe whenever called to that purpose. 1 am sure I have educated him in those principles ; so that T have acquitted my duty, and shall have nothing to answer for on that account. But I do not distrust him, for he is a good boy ; and if Providence should throw it in his way to be of as much consequence in a public light as his father once was, 1 can answer for him he wiU use his talents as honestly as I have done." CHAPTER IZ. IN WHICH THE GENTLEMAN DESCANTS ON BRAVEET AND HE- EOIO VIRTUE, TILL AN UNLUCKT ACCIDENT PUTS AN END TO THE DISCOURSE. The gentleman highly commended Mr. Adams for his good resolutions, and told him, " He hoped his son would tread in his steps ;" adding, " that if he would not die for his country, he would not be worthy to live in it. I'd make no more of shooting a man that would not die for his country than — " " Sir," said he, " I have disinherited a nephew, who is in the army, because he would not exchange his commission and go to the West Indies. I believe the rascal is a JOSEPH ANDREWS. 157 coward, though he pretends to be in love forsooth, 1 would have all such fellows hanged, sir ; I would have them hanged." Adams answered, "That would be too severe ; that meii_ did not make th emselves : and if fear had too much ascendance in the mind, the man was rather tolSe'pi tied than abhorreT ; Jtliat_reas'oE^ and time jm ghiT " teacS nSim to subdue it._'J _ He said, "A man, mightj)e_a co ward at one time, and brave at another. Homer," says he, " who lo"w^ll understood and copied nature, hath taught us this lesson ; for Paris fights and Hector runs away. Nay, we have a mighty instance of this in the his- tory of later ages, no longer ago than the 705th year of Rome, when the great Pompey, who had won so many battles and been honored with so many triumphs, and of whose valor several authors, especially Cicero and PatercuTH lus, have formed such eulogiums ; this very Pompey left the battle of Pharsalia before he had lost it, and retreated-- to his tent, where he sat like the most pusillanimous rascal in a fit of despair, and yielded a victory'wEicli"was to de- termine the empire of the world to Caesar. I am not much travelled in the history of modern times — that is to say, these last thousand years ; but those who are can, I make no question, furnish you with parallel instances." He concluded, therefore, that had he taken any such hasty resolutions against his nephew, he hoped he would consider better and retract them. The gentleman answered with great warmth, and talked much of courage and his country, till, perceiving it grew late, he asked Adams, " What place he intended for that night ?" He told him, " He waited there for the stage-coach. " " The stage-coach, sir !" said the gentleman; "they are all passed by long ago. You may see the last yourself almost three miles before us." " I protest and so they are," cries Adams; "then I must make haste and follow them." The gentleman told him he would hardly be able to overtake them ; and 158 THE AD VENTURES OF ttat if he did not know his way he would be in danger of losing himself on the downs, for it would be presently dark, and he might ramble about all night, and perhaps find himself farther from his journey's end in the morning than he was now." He advised him, therefore, to " accom- pany him to his house, which was very little out of his way," assuring him " that he would find some country fel- low in his parish who would conduct him for sixpence to the city where he was going. " Adams accepted this pro- posal, and on they travelled, the gentleman renewing his discourse on courage, and the infamy of not being ready at all times to sacrifice our lives to our country. Night over- took them much about the same time as they arrived near some bushes ; whence, on a sudden, they heard the most violent- shrieks imaginable in a female voice. Adams offered to snatch the gun out of his companion's hand. " What are you doing?" said he. "Doing!" said Adams; "I am hastening to the assistance of the poor creature whom some villains are murdering." " You are not mad enough, I hope," says the gentleman, trembling ; " do you consider this gun is only charged with shot, and that the robbers are most probably furnished with pistols loaded with bullets ? This is no business of ours ; let us make as much haste as possible out of the way, or we may fall into their hands ourselves." The shrieks now increafiing, Adams made no answer, but snapped his fingers, and brandishing his crab- stick, made directly to the place whence the voice issued ; \ and the man of courage made as much ex pedition towa rds hls~6wn home, whither he escaped in a very_ short _tinie without once looking behind him, -gdljere-Kfi- .sail. JfiftYfi-- him to contemplate his own bravery and to censure the want of "it In others, and return "to tl'ie^ good Adams, who, on coming up to the place whence the noise"^foceeded, found a woman strugghng with a man, who had thrown her on the ground, and had almost overpowered her. The JOSEPH ANDREWS. 159 great abilities of Mr. Adams were not necessary to have formed a right judgment of this affair on the first sight. He did not, therefore, want the entreaties of the poor wretch to assist her ; but, lifting up his crab-stick, he imme- diately levelled a blow at that part of the ravisher's head where, according to the opinion of the ancients, the brains of some persons are deposited, and which he had undoubt- edly let forth, had not Nature, (who, as wise men have observed, equips all creatures with what is most expedient for them) taken a provident care (as she always doth with those she intends for encounters) to make this part of the head three times as thick as those of ordinary men who are designed to exercise talents which are vulgarly called ra- tional, and for whom, as brains are necessary, she is obliged to leave some room for them in the cavity of the skull ; whereas, those ingredients being entirely useless to persons of the heroic calhng, she hath an opportunity of thickening the bone, so as to make it less subject to any impression,, or liable to be cracked or broken ; and indeed,- in some who are predestined to the command of armies and empires, she is supposed sometimes to make that part perfectly soHd. As a game cock when engaged in amorous toying with a hen, if perchance he espies another cock at hand, immedi- ately quits his female, and opposes himself to his rival, so did the ravisher, on the information of the crab-stick, im- mediately leap from the woman and hasten to assail the man. He had no weapons but what Nature had furnished him with. However, he clenched his fist, and presently darted it at that part of Adam's breast where the heart is lodged. Adams staggered at the violence of the blow, when, throwing away his staff, he likewise clenched that fist which we have before commemorated, and would have dis- charged it full in the breast of his antagonist had he not dexterously caught it with his left hand, at the same time darting his head (which some modem heroes of the lowei 160 THE ADVENTURES OF class use, like the battering-ram of tlie ancients, for a weapon of offence ; another reason to admire the cunning- ness of Natnre, in composing it of those impenetrable materials) ; dashing his head, I say, into the stomach of Adams, he tumbled him on his back ; and not having any regard to the laws of heroism, which would have restrained him from any farther attack on his enemy till he was again on his legs, he threw himself upon him, and lajang hold on the ground with his left hand, he with his right bela- bored the body of Adams tiU he was weary, and indeed till he concluded (to use the language of fighting) " that he had done his business ;" or, in the language of poetry, " that he had sent him to the shades below ;" in plain English, " that he was dead. " Bpt Adams, jdlQ-5£aS-iKuJiiekeBy-an4-ee«M-beax_ajirub- bing as well as^any bnyirig cbannpimi in the univg rap^lay still only to watch his opportunity ; and now, perceiving his antagonist to pant with his labors, he exerted his utmost force at once, and with such success that he overturned him, and became his superior ; when, fixing one of his knees in his breast, he cried out in an exulting voice, " It is my turn now ;" and after a few minutes' constant appli- cation, he gave him so dexterous a blow just under his chin that the fellow no longer retained any motion, and Adams began to fear he had struck him once too often ; for he often asserted " he should be concerned to have the blood of even the wicked upon him." Adams got up and called aloud to the young woman. "Be of good cheer, damsel," said he ; " you are no longer in danger of your ravisher, who, I am terribly afraid, lies dead at my feet ; but God forgive me what I have done in defence of innocence !" The poor wretch, who had been some time in recovering strength enough to rise, and had afterwards, during the engagement, stood trembling, being disabled by fear even fromrunning away, hearing her com JOSEPH ANDREWS. 161 panion was victorious, came up to him, but not without apprehensions even of her deliverer ; which, however, she was soon relieved from by his courteous behavior and gentle words. They were both standing by the body, which lay motionless on the ground, and which Adams, wished to see stir much more than the woman did, when he earnestly begged her to tell him " by what misfortune she came, at such a time of night, into so lonely a place." She acquaint- ed him, " She was travelling towards London, and had acci- dentally met with the person from whom he had delivered her, who told her he was hkewise on his journey to the same place, and would keep her company, an ofEer which, suspecting no harm, she had accepted ; that he told her they were at a small distance from an inn, where she might take up her lodging that evening, and he would show her a nearer way to it than by following the road ; that if she had suspected him (which she did not, he spoke so kiadly to her), being alone on these downs in the dark, she had no human means tc avoid him ; that therefore she pat her whole trust in Providence, and walked on, expecting every moment to arrive at the inn ; when on a sudden, being come to those bushes, he desired her to stop, and after some rude kisses, which she resisted, and some entreaties, which she rejected, he laid violent hands on her, and was attempting to execute his wicked will, when, she thanked G — , he timely came up and prevented him." Adams encouraged her for saying she had put her whole trust in Providence, and told her, " He doubted not but Providence had sent him to her deliverance as a reward for that trust. He wished indeed he had not deprived the wicked wretch of life, but G — 'swill be done." He said, "he hoped the goodness of his intention would excuse him in the next world, and he trusted in her evidence to acquit him in this." He was then silent, and began to consider with himself whether it would be properer to make his escape, oi 162 THE ADVENTURES 01 to deliver Hmself into the hands of justice, which medita- tion ended as the reader will see in the next chapter. CHAPTEE X. GITING AN ACCOUNT OF THE STEAN6E CATA8TE0PHE OF THE PRECEDING ADVENTUEE, WHICH DREW POOR ADAMS INTO FRESH CAL AMITIES ; AND WHO THE WOMAN WAS WHO OWED THE PRESERVATION OF HER CHASTITY TO HIS VIC- TORIOUS AEM. The silence of Adams, added to the darkness of the night and loneliness of the place, struck dreadful apprehension into the poor woman's mind ; she began to fear as great an enemy in her dehverer as he had delivered her from ; and as she had not light enough to discover the age of Adams, and the benevolence visible in his countenance, she suspect- ed he had used her as some very honeei- men have used their country ; and had rescued her out of the hands of one rifler in order to rifle her himself. Such were the sus- picions she drew from his silence ; but indeed they were ill-grounded. He stood over his vanquished enemy, wisely weighing in his mind the objections which might be made to either of the two methods of proceeding mentioned in the last chapter, his judgment sometimes inclining to the one, and sometimes to the other ; for both seemed to hira so equally advisable and so equally dangerous that prob- ably he would have ended his days, at least two or three of them, on that very spot, before he had taken any resolu- tion ; at length he lifted up his eyes, and spied a light at a distance, to which he instantly addressed himself with Reus tu, trameller, heus tu ! He presently heard several voices, and perceived the hght approaching toward him. The persons who attended the light began some to laugh, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 163 others to sing, and others to hollow, at which the woman testified gome fear (for she had concealed her suspicions of the parson himself) ; but Adams said, "Be of good cheer, damsel, and repose thy trust in the same Providence which hath hitherto protected thee, and never will forsake the in- nocent." These people, who now approached, were no other, reader, than a set of young fellows who came to these bushes in pursuit of a diversion which they call bird- batting. This, if you are ignorant of it (as perhaps if thou hast never travelled beyond Kensington, Islington, Hack- ney, or the Eorough, thou mayst be), I will inform thee, is performed by holding a large clapijp.t before a lantern, and at the same time beating the bushes ; for the birds, when they are disturbed from their places of rest, or joost, immediately make to the hght, and so are enticed within the net. Adams immediately told them what' had hap- pened, and desired them to hold the lantern to the face of the man on the ground, for he feared he had smote him fa- tally. But indeed his fears were frivolous ; for the fellow, though he had been stunned by the last blow he received, had long since recovered his senses, and finding himself quit of Adams, had Hstened attentively to the discourse be- tween him and the young woman, for whose departure he had patiently waited, that he might likewise withdraw himseK, having no longer hopes of succeeding in his de-' sires, which were moreover almost as wpU cooled by Mr. Adams as they could have been by the young woman her- self had he obtained his utmost wish. This fellow, who had a readiness at improving any accident, thought he might now play a better part than that of a dead man ; and ac- cordingly, the moment the candle was held to his face, he leaped up, and laying hold on Adams, cried out, " No, villain, I am not dead, though you and your wicked whore might well think me so, after the barbarous cruelties you have exercised on me. Gentlemen," said he, "you are 164 THE ADVENTURES OF luckily come to the assistance of a poor traveller, wlio would otherwise have been robbed and murdered, by this vile man and woman, who led me hither out of my way from the high-road, and both falling on me have used me as you see. " Adams was going to answer, when one of the young fellows cried, " D — n them, let's carry them both before the justice." The poor woman began to tremble, and Adams lifted up his voice, but in vain. Three or four of them laid hands on him ; and one holding the lantern to his face, they all agreed he had the most villanous counte- nance they ever beheld : and an attorney's clerk, who was of the company, declared he was sure he had remembered him at the bar. As to the woman, her hair was dishevelled in the struggle, and her nose had bled ; so that they could not perceive whether she was handsome or ugly, but they said her fright plainly discovered her guilt. And searching her pockets, as they did those of Adams, for money, which the fellow said he had lost, they found in her pocket a purse with some gold in it, which abundantly convinced them, especially as the fellow offered to swear to it. Mr. Adams was found to have no more than one halfpenny about him. This the clerk said " was a great presumption that he was an old offender, by cunningly giving all the booty to the woman." To which all the rest readily assented. This accident promising them better sport than what they had proposed, they quitted their intention of catching birds, and unanimously j-esolved to proceed to the justice with the offenders. Being informed what a desperate fellow Adams was, they tied his hands behind him ; and having hid their nets among the bushes, and the lantern being car- ried before them, they placed the two prisoners in their front, and then began their march, Adams not only sub- mitting patiently to his own fate, but comforting and en- couraging his companion under her sufferings. Whilst they were on their way the clerk informed the Joseph anbRjEWB. 16S rest that this adventure would prove a very beneficial one ; for that they would all be entitled to their proportions of 80Z. for apprehending the robbers. This occasioned a contention concerning the parts which they had severally borne in taking them, one insisting he ought to have the greatest share, for he had first laid his hands on Adams ; another claiming a superior part for having first held the lantern to the man's face on the ground, by which, he said, "the whole was discovered. " The clerk claimed four fifths of the reward for having proposed to search the prisoners, and likewise the carrying them before the justice. He said, "Indeed, in strict justice, he ought to have the whole. " These claims, however, they at last consented to refer to a future decision, but seemed all to agree that the clerk was entitled to a moiety. They then debated what money should be allotted to the young fellow who had been em- ployed only in holding the nets. He very modestly said, ' ' that he did not apprehend any large proportion would fall to his share, but hoped they would allow him some- thing ; he desired them to consider that they had assigned their nets to his care, which prevented him from being as forward as any in laying hold of the robbers" (for so those innocent people were called) ; " that if he had not occu- pied the nets some other must," conchiding, however, " that he should be contented with the smallest share im- aginable, and should think that rather their bounty than his merit. ' ' But they were all unanimous in excluding him from any part whatever, the clerk particularly swearing, " If they gave him a shilling they might do what they pleased with the rest, for he would not concern himself with the affair." This contention was so hot, and so totally engaged the attention of all the parties, that a dexterous nimble thief, had he been in Mr. Adams's situation, would have taken care to have given the justice no trouble that evening. Indeed, it required not the art of a Shepherd to 166 THE AD VENTURES OF escape, especially as tlie darkness of the night would have so much befriended him ; but Adams trusted rather to his innocence than his heels, and without thinking of flight, which was easy, or resistance (which was impossible, as there were six lusty young fellows besides the villain him- self present), he walked with perfect resignation the way they thought proper to conduct him. Adams frequently vented himself in ejaculations during their journey ; at last, poor Joseph Andrews occurring to his mind, he could not refrain sighing forth his namee which being heard by his companion in affliction, she cried with some vehemence, " Sure I should know that voice ; you cannot certainly, sir, be Mr. Abraham Adams ?" " In- deed, damsel," says he, " that is my name ; there is some- thing also in your voice which persuades me I have heard it before." "La! sir," says she, "don't you remember poor Fanny?" " How, Fanny !" answered Adams ; "in- deed I very well remember you ; what can have brought you hither?" "I have told yon, sir," replied she, "I was travelling towards London ; but I thought you men- tioned Joseph Andrews ; pray what is become of him ?" " I left him, child, this afternoon," said Adams, "in the stage-coach, on his way towards our parish, whither he is going to see you." "To see me! La! sir," answered Fanny, " sure you jeer me ; what should he be going to see me for ?" " Can you ask that ?" replied Adams. " I hope, Fanny, you are not inconstant ; I assure you he de- serves miich better of you." "La! Mr. Adams," said she, " what is Mr. Joseph to me ? I am sure I never had any thing to say to him, but as one fellow-servant might to another." "1 am sorry to hear this," said Adams; "a virtuous passion for a young man is what no woman need be ashamed of. You either do not tell me truth, or you are false to a very worthy man. " Adams then told her what had happened at the inn, to which she Hstened very atten- JOSEPH AJUDBHWS. 167 tively ; and a sigh often escaped from her, notwithstanding her utmost endeavors to the contrary ; nor bould she pre- vent herself from asking a thousand questions, which would have assured any one but Adams, who never saw farther into people than they desired to let him, of the truth of a passion she endeavored to conceal. Indeed, the fact was, that this poor girl, having heard of Joseph's misfortune, by some of the servants belonging to the coach which we have formerly mentioned to have stopped at the inn while the poor youth was confined to his bed, that instant abandoned the cow she was milking, and taking with her a Httle bun- dle of clothes under her arm, and all the money she was worth in her own purse, without consulting any one, im- mediately set forward in pursuit of one whom, notwith- standing her shyness to the parson, she loved with inexpres- sible violence, though with the purest and most delicate pas- V sion. This shyness, therefore, as we trust it will recom- mend her character to all our female readers, and not greatly surprise such of our males as are well acquainted with the younger part of the other sex, we shall not give ourselves any trouble to vindicate. CHAPTER XI. WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM WHILE BEFORE THE JTTSTICE. A CHAPTER VEET FULL OF LEAENING. Theie fellow-travellers were so engaged in the hot dis- pute concerning the division of the reward for apprehend- ing these innocent people that they attended very little to their discourse. They were now arrived at the justice's house, and had sent one of his servants in to acquaint his worship that they had taken two robbers and brought them before him. The justice, who was just returned from a 168 TEE ADVENTURES OF fox-chase, and had not yet finished his dinner, ordered them to carry the prisoners into the stable, whither they were at- tended by all the servants in the house, and all the people in the neighborhood, who flocked together to see them with as much curiosity as if there was something uncommon to be seen, or that a rogue did not look like other people. The justice, now being in the height of his mirth and his cups, bethought himself of the prisoners ; and telling his company he believed they should have good sport in their examination, he ordered them into his presence. They had no sooner entered the room than he began to revile them, saying, " That robberies on the highway were now grown so frequent that people could not sleep safely in their beds, and assured them they both should be made examples of at the ensuing assizes." After he had gone on some time in this manner, he was reminded by his clerk, " That it would be proper to take the depositions of the witnesses against them." Which he bid him do, and he would light his pipe in the meantime. Whilst the clerk was employed in writ- ing down the deposition of the fellow who had pretended to be robbed, the justice employed himself in cracking jests on poor Fanny, in which he was seconded by all the company at table. One asked, " Whether she was to be indicted for a highwayman ?" Another whispered in her ear, " If she had not provided herself a great belly, he was at her ser- vice." A third said, " He warranted she was a relation of Tur^in." To which one of the company, a great wit, shak- ing his head, and then his sides, answered, '* He believed she was nearer related to "JUJ^s ;" at which there was an universal laugh. They were proceeding thus with the poor girl, when somebody, smoking the cassock peeping forth from imder the great-coat of Adams, cried out, " What have we here, a parson ?" " How, sirrah," says the justice^ " do you go a robbing in the dress of a clergyman ? let me tell you your habit will not entitle you to the benefit of the JOSEPH ANDREWS. 169 clergy." "Yes," said the witty fellow, "he will have one benefit of clergy : he will be exalted above the heads of the people ;" at which there was a second laugh. And now the witty spark, seeing his jokes take, began to rise in spirits ; and turning to Adams, challenged him to cap verses, and provoking him by giving the first blow, he repeated, " MoTle rmiMn lemJms cord est vilebile ieUs." Upon which Adams, with a look full of ineffable contempt, told him, "He deserved scourging for his pronunciation." The witty fellow answered, " "What do you deserve, doctor, for not being able to answer the first time ? "Why, I'll give one, you blockhead, with an S. " ' Bi licet, utfuVowm spectainir in igmJms Tia/wrwm.' " " What, canst not with an M neither ? Thou art a pretty fellow for a parson ! "Why didst not steal some of the par- son's Latin as well as his gown ?" Another at the table then answered, "If he had, you would have been too hard for him ; I remember you at the college a very devil at this sport ; I have seen you catch a freshman, for nobody that knew you would engage with you." " I have forgot those things now," cried the wit. " I believe I could have done pretty well formerly. Let's see, what did I end with ? — an M again — ay — " ' Mars, Bacchus, ApoUo, mrorum.' " "I could have done it once." "Ah! evil betide you, and so you can now," said the other; "nobody in this country will undertake you. ' ' Adams could hold no longer. " Friend," said he, " I have a boy not above eight years old who would instruct thee that the last verse runs thus : ' Ut sunt Divorwm, Ma/rs, Bacchus, ApoUo, wrorwm. ' " I'll hold thee a guinea of that," said the wit, throwing the money on the table. " And I'U go your halves," cries 170 THE AD VENTURES OF the other. " Done," answered Adams; but upon apply- ing to Ms pocket lie was forced to retract, and own he had no money about him ; which set them all a laughing, and confirmed the triumph of his adversary, which was not moderate, any more than the approbation he met with from the whole company, who told Adams he must go a little longer to school before he attempted to attack that gentle- man in Latin. The clerk having finished the depositions, as well of the fellow himself as of those who apprehended the prisoners, delivered them to the justice, who, having sworn the sev- eral witnesses without reading a syllable, ordered his clerk to make the mittimus. Adams then said, " He hoped he should not be con- demned unheard." " ISTo, no," cries the justice, " you will be asked what you have to say for yourself when you come on your trial : we are not trying you now ; I shall only commit you to jail : if you can prove your innocence at 'size, you will be found ignoramus, and so no harm done." ' ' Is it no punishment, sir, for an innocent man to lie sev- eral months in jail ?" cries Adams : " I beg you would at least hear me before you sign the mittimus." " What sig- nifies all you can say ?" says the justice : " is it not here in black and white against you ? I must teU you you are a very impertinent fellow to take up so much of my time. So make haste with his mittimus." The clerk now acquainted the justice that among other suspicious things, as a penknife, etc., found in Adams's pocket, they had discovered a book written, as he appre- hended, in ciphers : for no one could read a word in it. " Ay," says the justice, " the fellow may be more than a common robber ; he may be in a plot against the govern- ment. Produce the book. " Upon which the poor manu- script of JEschylus, which Adams had transcribed with his own hand, was brought forth ; and the justice, looking at JOSEPH ANDREWS. 171 it, shook Ms head, and turning to the prisoner asked the meaning of those ciphers. " Cyphers ?" answered Adams, " it is a manuscript of -^schynls." "Who? who?" said the justice. Adams repeated, " ^schy Ins. " " That is an outlandish name," cried the clerk. "A fictitious name rather, I believe," said the justice. One of the company declared it looked very much like Greek. " Greek ?" said the justice; " why, 'tis all writing." "No," says the other, " I don't positively say it is so ; for it is a very long time since I have seen any Greek." " There's one," says he, turning to the parson of the parish, who was present, "will teU us immediately." The parson, taking up the book, and putting on his spectacles and gravity together, muttered some words to himself, and then pronounced aloud — " Aye, indeed, it is a Greek manuscript ; a very fine piece of antiquity. I make no doubt but it was stolen from the same clergyman from whom the rogue took the cassock." " What did the rascal mean by his JEschylus ?" says the justice. ' ' Pooh ! ' ' answered the doctor with a contemptuous grin, " do you think that fellow knows any thing of this book ? ^schylus ! ho ! ho ! ho ! I see now what it is — a manuscript of one of the fathers. I know a nobleman who would give a great deal of money for such a piece of antiquity. Aye, aye, question and answer, The beginning is the cateshisai in Greek. Aye, aye, Pollahi toi : What's your name?" "Aye, 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. ^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, " squire ! are you there ? I believe you will inform his worship I am innocent." " I can indeed say," m TBE AD VERTtrltm of replied the squire, " ttat I am very much surprised to see jou in this situation ;" and then, addressing himself to the justice, he said, " Sir, I assure you Mr. Adams is a clergy- man, as he appears, and a gentleman of a very good char- acter. I wish you would inquirie a little farther into this affair, for I am convinced of his innocence." "Nay," says the justice, " if he is a gentleman, and you are sure lie is innocent, I don't desire to commit liim, not I : I will commit the woman by herself, and take your bail for the gentleman ; look into the book, clerk, and see how it is to take bail — come — and make the mittimus for the woman as fast as you can. " " Sir, ' ' cries Adams, ' ' I assure you she is as innocent as myself." "Perhaps," said the squire, " there may be some mistake : pray let us hear Mr. Adams's relation. " ""With all my heart," answered the justice ; " and give the gentleman a glass to whet his whis- tle before he begins. I know how to behave myself to a gentleman as well as another. Nobody can say I have com - mitted a gentleman since I have been in thf. comTnissijffl -" Adams then began the narrative, in which, though he was very prolix, he was uninterrupted, unless by several hums and hahs of the justice, and his desire to repeat those parts which seemed to him most material. When he had finished, the justice, who, on what the squire had said, beheved every syllable of his story on his bare affirmation, notwith- standing 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 likely to take, had privily withdrawn without attending the issue. The justice now flew into a violent passion, and was hardly pre- vailed with not to commit the innocent fellows who had been imposed on as well as himseK. He swore, ' ' They had best find out the fellow who was guilty of perjury, and bring him before liim within two days, or he would bind JOSEPH ANDREWS. 173 them all over to their good behayior." They aU promised to use their best endeavors 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 manuscript without saying a word ; nor would Adams, who plainly discerned his igno- rance, expose it. As for Fanny, she was, at her own re- quest, recommended to the care of a maid-servant of the house, who helped her to new dress and clean herseK. The company in the parlor had not been long seated be- fore they were alarmed with a horrible uproar from with- out, where the persons who had apprehended Adams and Fanny had been regaling, according to the custom of the house, with the justice's strong beer. These were all fallen together by the ears, and were cuffing each other without any mercy. The justice himself sallied out, and with the dignity of his presence soon put an end to the fray. On hisreturn into the parlor, 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, " jle was cp n- cenied to see so litigious a temper in men . That he remem- bered a story something like it in One of the parishes where his cure lay: There was," continued he, "a competition between three young fellows for the place of the clerk, which I disposed of, to the best of my abilities, according to merit — that is, I gave it to him who had the happiest knack at setting a psalm. The clerk was no sooner estab- lished in his place than a contention began between the two disappointed candidates concerning their excellence, each contending on whom, had they two been the only competi- tors, my election would have fallen. This dispute fre- quently disturbed the congregation, and introduced a dis- 174 THE AD VENTURES OF cord into the paalmodY. till I was forced to silence them both. But, alas ! the litigious spirit could not be stifled ; and, being no longer able to vent itseU' in singing, it now broke forth in fighting. It produced many battles (for they were very near a match), and 1 believe would have ended fatally, had not the death of the clerk given me an oppor- tunity to promote one of them to his place, which pres- ently put an end to the dispute and entirely reconciled the contending parties." Adams then proceeded to make some philosophical observations on the folly of growing warm in disputes in which neither party is interested. He then ap- plied himself vigorously to smoking ; and a long sUence en- sued, which was at length broke by the justice, who began to sing forth his own praises, and to value himself exceed- ingly on his nice discernment in. the 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 main- tained he ought to have been committed, and the justice as vehemently held he ought not. This had most probably produced a quarrel (for both were very violent and positive in their opinions) had not Fanny accidentally heard that a young fellow was going from the justice's house to the very inn where the stage-coach in which Joseph was put up. Upon this news, she immediately sent for the parson out of the parlor. 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 fully determined to go with her. He accordingly took leave of the justice and company, and so ended a dispute in which the law seemed shamefully to intend to set a magistrate and a divine together by the ears. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 175 CHAPTER XII. A VEET DELIGHTFUL ADVENTUEE, A8 WELL TO THE PEEBONa CONCEENED AB TO THE GOOD-NATUEED EEADEE. Adams, Fanny, and the guide set out together ahout one in the morning, the moon being then just risen. They had not gone above a mile before a most violent storm of rain obliged them to take, shelter in an inn, or rather ale-house, where Adams immediately procured himself a good fire, a toast and ale, and a pipe, and began to smoke with great content, utterly forgetting every thing that had happened. Fanny sat hkewise down by the fire, but was much more impatient at the storm. She presently engaged the eyes of the host, his wife, the maid of the house, and the young fellow who was their guide ; they all conceived they had never seen any thing half so handsome ; and indeed, reader, if thou art of an amorous hue, I advise thee to skip over the next paragraph ; which, to render our history perfect, we are obliged to set down, humbly hoping that we may escape the fate of Pygmalion ; for if it should happen to us, or to thee, to be struck with this picture, we should be perhaps in as helpless a condition as Narcissus, and might say to ourselves, quod petis est musquam. Or, if the finest features in it should set Lady 's image before our eyes, we should be still in as bad a situation, and might say to our desires, Cwlurn vpsum petimus stultitia. Fanny was now in the nineteenth year of her age ; she was tall and deUcately shaped, but not one of those slender young women who seem rather intended to hang up in the hall of an anatomist than for any other purpose. On the contrary, she was so plump that she seemed bursting through her tight stays, especially in the part which confined her pwellino- i^TCP^ts. Nor did her hips want the assistance of a 176 THE AD VENTURES OF 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 labor, yet, if her sleeve slipped above her elbow, or her handkerchief discovered any part of her neck, a whiteness appeared which the finest Italian paint would be unable to reach. Her hair was of a chestnut brown, and nature had been extremely lavish to her of it, which she had cut, and on Sundays used to curl down her neck, in the modern fashion. Her forehead was high, her eyebrows arched, and rather full than otherwise. Her eyes black and sparkHng ; her nose just inclining to the Roman ; her lips red and moist, and her under lip, accord- ing to the opinion of the ladies, too pouting. Her teeth were white, but not exactly even. The small-pox had left one only mark on her chin, which was so large it might have been mistaken for a dimple, had not her left cheek produced one so near a neighbor to it that the former served only for a foil to the latter. Her complexion was fair, a Httle injured by the sun, but overspread with such a bloom that the finest ladies would have exchanged all their white for it ; add to these a countenance in which, though she was extremely bashful, a sensibihty appeared almost incredible ; and a sweetness, whenever she smiled, beyond either imitation or description. To conclude all, she had a natural gentihty, superior to the acquisition of art, and which surprised aU 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 WTio is by thy beauties undone ? To wash their remembrance away, To what distant Lethe must run ? JOSEPH ANDREWS. 177 The wretch who was sentenced to die May escape, and leave justice behind ; From his country perhaps he may fly, But O 1 can he fly from his mind ? O rapture 1 unthought of before, To be thus of Chloe possess'd ; Nor she, nor no tyrant's hard power. Her image can tear from my breast. But felt not Narcissus more joy. With his eyes he beheld his loved charms ? Yet what he beheld the fond boy More eagerly wish'd in his arms. How can it thy dear image be Which fills thus my bosom with woe ? Can aught bear resemblance to thee Which grief and not joy can bestow ? This counterfeit snatch from my heart. Ye pow'rs, tho' with torment I rave, Tho' mortal will prove the fell smart : I then shall find rest in my grave. Ah, see the dear nymph o'er the plain Come smiling and tripping along 1 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 flowers, 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 seized on my bliss ; Her bosom but half she withdrew. But half she refused my 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 their own. 178 THE ADVENTURES OF Ah, Chloe, expiring, I cried, Hovr long I thy cruelty bore ! Ah, Strephon, she blushing replied, You ne'er was so pressing before. Adams tad been ruminating all this time on a passage in ^sphylus, without attending in the least to the voice, though one of the most melodious that ever was heard, when, cast- ing his eyes on Fanny, he cried out, " Bless us, you look extremely pale!" "Pale! Mr. Adams," says she; "0 Jesus !" and fell backwards in her chair. Adams jumped np, flung his JEschylus into the fire, and fell a roaring to the people of the house for help. He soon simimoned every one into the room, and the songster among the rest ; but, reader ! when this nightingale, who was no other than Joseph Andrews himself, saw his beloved Fanny in the situation we have described her, canst thou conceive the agitations of his mind ? If thou canst not, waive that medi- tation to behold his happiness, when, clasping her in his arms, he found life and blood returning into her cheeks ; when he saw her open her beloved eyes, and heard her with the softest accent whisper, " Are you Joseph An- drews ?" " Art thou my Fanny ?" he answered eagerly ; and pulling her to his heart, he imprinted numberless kisses on her lips, without considering who were present. If prudes are offended at the lusciousness of this picture, they may take their eyes off from it, and survey Parson Adams dancing about the room in a rapture of joy. Some philosophers may perhaps doubt whether he was not the happiest of the three ; for the goodness of his heart enjoyed the blessings which were exulting in the breasts of both the other two, together with his own. But we shall leave such disquisitions, as too deep for us, to those who are building some favorite hypothesis, wliich they vdll refuse no meta- physical rubbish to erect and support : for our part, we give it clearly on the side of Joseph, whose happiness was not only JOSEPH ANDREWS. 179 greater than the parson's, but of longer duration; for as soon as the first tumults of Adams's rapture were over he cast his eyes towards the fire, where ^schylus lay expir- ing, and immediately rescued the poor remains, to wit, the sheepskin covering, of his dear friend, which was the work of his own hands, and had been his inseparable companion for upwards of thirty years. Fanny had no sooner perfectly recovered herself than she began to restrain the impetuosity of her transports ; and reflecting on what she had done and suffered in the pres- ence of so many, she was immediately covered with con- fusion ; and pushing Joseph gently from her, she begged him to be quiet, nor would admit of either kiss or embrace any longer. Then, seeing Mrs. Slipslop, she courtesied, and offered to advance to her ; but that high woman would not return her courtesies ; but, casting her eyes another way, immediately withdrew into another room, muttering as she went she wondered who the creature was. CHAPTEE XIII. A DISSEETATIOlSr CONCERNING HIGH PEOPLE AND LOW PEOPLE, WITH MKS. slipslop's DEPAKTUEE IN NO VERT GOOD TEM- PER OF MIND, AND THE EVIL PLIGHT IN WHICH SHE LEFT ADAMS AND HIS COMPANY. It will doubtless seem extremely odd to many readers that Mrs. Slipslop, who had lived several years in the same house with Fanny, should, in a short separation, utterly for- get her. And indeed the truth is, that she remembered her very well. As we would not willingly, therefore, that any thing should appear unnatural in this our history, we will endeavor to explain the reasons of her conduct ; nor do we doubt being able to satisfy^ the most curioiis reader that 180 THE ADVENTURES OF Mrs. Slipslop did not in the least deviate from the common road in this behavior ; and indeed had she done otherwise, she must have descended below herself, and would have very justly been liable to censure. Be it known then, that the hum an specie s arejlivided into two sorts of people, to wit, high people and l ow people. A^by4iTgh~pe?3ple I would not belin3CTstoodto mean per- sons literally born higher in their dimensions than the rest of the species, nor metaphorically those of exalted charac- ters or abilities ; so by low people I cannot be construed to intend the reverse. High people signify no other than peo- ple of fashion, a nd low p eo ple those of no fasliioii L Now, this word fashio n hath by lon g use lost its original mean ing, froTfrwhicITat present it gives us a very different idea ; for I am deceived if by persons of fashion we do not generally include a conception of birth and accomplishments superior to the herd of mankind ; whereas, in reality, nothing more was originally meant by a person of fashion than a person who dressed himself in the fashion of the times ; and the word really and truly signifies no more at this day. Now, the world being thus divided into people of fashion and people of no fashion, a fierce contention arose between them ; nor would those of one party, to avoid suspicion, be seen pub- liely to speak to those of the other, though they often held a very good correspondence in private. In this contention it is difficult to say which party succeeded : for, whilst the people of fashion seized several places to their own use, such as courts, assembhes, operas, balls, etc., the people of no fashion, besides one royal place, called his Majesty's Bear-garden, have been in constant possession of all hops, fairs, revels, etc. Two places have been agreed to be divided between them, namely, the church and the play- house, where they segregate themselves from each other in a remarkable manner ; for, as the people of fashion exalt themselves at church over the heads of the people of no JOSEPH AJSTBREWS. 181 fafihion, so in the playhouse they abase themselves in the same degree under their feet. This distinction I have ^ever met with any one able to account for ; it is sufficient that, so far from looking on each other as brethren in the Christian language, they seem scarce to regard each other as of the same species. This, the terms " strange persons, people one does not know, the creature, wretches, beasts, brutes," and many other appellations evidently demon- strate ; which Mrs. Slipslop, having often heard her mis- tress use, thought she had also a right to use in her turn ; and perhaps she was not mistaken ; for these two parties, especially those bordering nearly on each other, to wit, the lowest of the high, and the highest of the low, often change their parties according to place and time ; for thfise_who_ are people .of -f-a&hion^ in one place are„ often people . of no_ faffhTSa-in another. And with regard to time, it may not be unpleasant to survey the picture of dependence like a kind of ladder ; as, for instance : early in the morning arises the postilion, or some other boy, which great fami- lies, no more than great ships, are without, and falls to brushing the clothes and cleaning the shoes of John the footman, who, being dressed himself, applies his hands to the same labors for Mr. Second-hand, the squire's gentle- man ; the gentleman in the like manner, a little later in the day, attends the squire ; the squire is no sooner equip- ped than he attends the levee of my lord, which is no sooner over than my lord himself is seen at the levee of the favorite, who, after the hour of homage is at an end, ap- pears himself to pay homage to the levee of his sovereign. Nor is there, perhaps, in this whole ladder of dependence, any one step at a greater distance from the other than the first from the second ; so that to a philosopher the question might only seem, whether you would choose to be a great man at six in the morning, or at two in the afternoon. And yet there _a re scarce two of these who !\n rjnt. think tlie 182 THE ADVENTURES OF ^ least familiaritY wlth the persons below the m a cond esgeP- sion, and, if they wer e to go one step t'artiier, a degra da- tioih ^* ' Snd now, reader, I hope thou wilt pardon this long digression, which seemed to me necessary to vindicate the gi'eat character of Mrs. Slipslop from what low people, who have never seen high people, might think an absurdity ; but we who know them must have daily found very high persons know us in one place and not in another, to-day and not to-morrow ; all which it is diflScult to account for otherwise than I have here endeavored ; and perhaps, if the godSj_accordingto the opinion of somej_made men only to laugh at them, there is no part of our behavior which answersThe eiid of our creation better Jhanjhis. ""BiTtno return' to our history : Adams, who knew no more of this than the cat which sat on the table, imagin- ing Mrs. Slipslop's memory had been much worse than it really was, followed her into the next room, crying out, " Madam Slipslop, here is one of your old acquaintance ; do but see what a fine woman she is grown since she left Lady Booby's service." "I think I reflect something of her," answered she with great dignity, " but I can't remember all the inferior servants in our family." She then proceeded to satisfy Adams's curiosity by telling him, " when she arrived at the inn, she found a chaise ready for her ; that, her lady being expected very shortly in the country, she was obliged to make the utmost haste ; and, in commensuration of Joseph's lameness, she had taken him with her ;" and lastly, " that the excessive virulence of the storm had driven them into the house where he found them." After which, she acquainted Adams with his having left his horse, and expressed some wonder at his having strayed so far out of his way, and at meeting him, as she said, " in the company of that wench, who she feared was no better than she should be." JOSEPH ANDREWS. 183 The horse was no sooner put into Adams's head but he was immediately driven out by this reflection on the charac- ter of Fanny. He protested, " He beheved there was not a chaster damsel in the universe. I heartily wish, I heartily wish," cried he (snapping his fingers), " that all her betters were as good." He then proceeded to inform her of the accident of their meeting ; but when he came to mention the circumstance of delivering her from the rape, she said, " She thought him properer for the army than the clergy ; that it did not become a clergyman to lay violent hands on any one ; that he should have rather prayed that she might be strengthened. " Adams said, " He was very far from be- ing ashamed of what he had done ;" she replied, " Want of shame was not the currycuristic of a clergyman." This dialogue might have probably grown warmer, had not Joseph opportunely entered the room, to ask leave of Madam Slipslop to introduce Fanny ; but she positively refused to admit any such troUops, and told him, " She would have been burned before she would have suffered him to get into a chaise with her, if she had once respected him of having his sluts waylaid on the road for him," add- ing, "that Mr. Adams acted a very pretty part, and she did not doubt but to see him a bishop." He made the best bow he could, and cried out, " I thank you, madam, for that right-reverend appellation, which I shall take all honest means to deserve." " Yery honest means," returned she with a sneer, " to bring good people together." At these words Adams took two or three strides across the room, when the coachman came to inform Mrs. Slipslop " That the storm was over, and the moon shone very bright." She then sent for Joseph, who was sitting without with his Fanny, and would have had him gone with her ; but he peremptorily refused to leave Fanny behind, which threw the good woman into a violent rage. She said " She would inform her lady what doings were carrying on, and did not 184 THS ADVENTURES OF doubt but she would rid tbe parish of all such people ;" and concluded a long speech, full of bitterness and very hard words, with some reflections on the clergy not decent to repeat ; at last, finding Joseph unmovable, she flung her- self into the chaise, easting a look at Fanny as she went not unlike that which Cleopatra gives Octavia in the play. To say the truth, she was most disagreeably disappointed by the presence of Fanny. She had, from her first seeing Joseph at the inn, conceived hopes of something which might have been accomplished at an ale-house as well as a palace. Indeed, it is probable Mr. Adams had rescued more than Fanny from the danger of a rape that evening. When the chaise had carried off the enraged Slipslop, Adams, Joseph, and Fanny assembled over the fire, where they had a great deal of innocent chat, pretty enough ; but, as possibly it would not be very entertaining to the reader, we shall hasten to the morning, only observing that none of them went to bed that night. Adams, when he had smoked three pipes, took a comfortable nap in a great chair, and left the lovers, whose eyes were too well employed to permit any desire of shutting them, to enjoy by them- selves, during some hours, an happiness of which none of my readers who have never been in love are capable of the least conception, though we had as many tongues as Homer desired to describe it with, and which all true lovers will represent to their own minds without the least assistance from us. Let it suffice then to say that Fanny, after a thousand entreaties, at last gave up her whole soul to Joseph ; and almost fainting in his arms, with a sigh infinitely softer and sweeter too than any Arabian breeze, she whispered to his lips, which were then close to hers, " O Joseph ! you have won me ; I will be yours forever." Joseph, having thank- ed her on his knees, and embraced her with an eagerness which she now almost returned, leaped up in a rapture, and awakened the parson, earnestly begging him " that he JOSEPH ANDREWS. 185 would that instant join their hands together. " Adams re- buked 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 bans — with which all good Christians ought to comply, auu to the omission of which he attributed the many miseries which befell great folks in marriage ;" concluding, " As many as are joined together otherwise than G — 's word doth allow, are not joind to- gether 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 reso- lution she was comforted and commended by Adams ; and Joseph was obliged to wait patiently till after' the third publication of the bans, which, however, he obtained the consent of Fanny, in the presence of Adams, to put in at their arrival. The sun had now been risen some hours, when Joseph, iinding his leg surprisingly recovered, proposed to walk for- wards ; but when they were all ready to set out an acci- dent a little retarded them. This was no other than the reckoning, which amounted to seven shillings, no great sum if we consider the immense quantity of ale which Mr. Adams poured in. Indeed, they had no objection to the reasonableness of the bill, but many to the probability of paying it ; for the feUow who had taken poor Fanny's purse had unluckily forgot to return it. So that the account stood thus : £. 8. d. Mr. Adams and company, Dr . . . .070 In Mr. Adams's pocket 6i In Mr. Joseph's In Mrs. Fanny's ... ..000 Balance . 6 5i 186 THE AD VENTURES OF They stood silent some few mi mites, staring at each other, when Adams whipped out on his toes and asked the host- ess "if there was no clergyman in that parish?" She answered, " There was.'' "Is he wealthy ?" replied he ; to which she likewise answered in the affirmative. Adams then snapping his fingers, returned overjoyed to his com- panions, crying out, " Heareka, Heureka ;" which not being understood, he told them in plain English, " They need give themselves no trouble, for he had a brother in the parish who would defray the reckoning, and that he would just step to his house and fetch the money, and return to them instantly. ' ' CHAPTER XIV. AN mrEEVIEW BETWEEN PAESON ADAMS AND PAESON TEtJL- LIBEE. Parson Adams came to the house of Parson TruUiber, whom he found stripped into his waistcoatpwixh an apron on, and a pail in his hand, just come from serving his hogs ; for Mr. Trulliber was _a parson on Sundays, but all the othef^six might more properly be called a farmer. He occupied a small piece of land" of his^ownTlaesides which he rented a considerable deal more. His wife milked his cows, managed his dairy, and followed the markets with butter and eggs. The hogs fell chiefly to his care, which he carefully waited on at home, and attended to fairs ; on which occasion he was liable to many jokes, his own size being, with much ale, rendered little inferior to that of the beasts he sold. He was indeed one of the largest men you should see, and could have acted the part of Sir John Fal- staff without stuffing. Add to this that the rotundity of his belly was considerably increased by the shortness of his stature, his shadow ascending very near as far in height Adams's visit to pakson tehllibek. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 187 when he lay on his back as when he stood on his legs. Hi 3 voice was loud and hoarse, and his accent extremely broad. To complete the whole, he had a stateliness in his gait, when he walked, not unlike that of a goose, only he stalked slower. Mr. Trulliber, being informed that somebody wanted to speak with him, immediately slipped off his apron and clothed himself in an old night-gown, being the dress in which he always saw his company at home. His wife, who informed him of Mr. Adams's arrival, had made a small mistake ; for she had told her husband, " She believed there was a man come for some of his hogs." This suppo- sition made Mr. Trulliber hasten with the most utmost ex- pedition 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 up- wards of twenty score a piece." Adams answered, "He believed he did not know him." " Yes, yes," cried Trul- liber, " I have seen you often at fair ; why, we have dealt before now, mun, I warrant you. Yes, yes," cries he, " I remember thy face very well, but won't mention a word more till you have seen them, though I have never sold thee a flitch of such bacon as is now in the stye." Upon which he laid violent hands on Adams, and dragged him into the hog-stye, which was indeed but two steps from his parlor window. They were no sooner arrived there than he cried out, " Do but handle them ; step in, friend ; art welcome to handle them, whether dost buy or no." At . which words, opening the gate, he pushed Adams into the pig-stye, insisting on it that he should handle them before he would talk one word with him. Adams, whose natural complacence was beyond any arti- ficial, was obliged to comply before he was suffered to 188 THE AD VENTURES OF explain himseK ; and laying hold on one of their tails, the unruly beast gave such a sudden spring that he threw poor Adams all along in the mire. TrulUber, instead of assisting him to get up, burst into a 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 com- placence far enough, was no sooner on his legs than he escaped out of the reach of the animals, and cried out, ' ' Nil hdbeo cum porcis ; I 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," adding, " she was a fool, and always committed blun- ders." He then desired him to walk in and clean him- self : j;hat he would only fasten up the stye and follow him. Adams desired leave to dry his great-coat, wig, and hat by the fire, which TruUiber 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, and then directed Adams to the pump. While Adams was thus employed, Trulliber, conceiving no great respect for the appearance of his guest, fastened the parlor door, and now conducted him into the kitchen, telhng him he beheved a cup of drink would do him no harm, and whispered his wife to draw a Uttle of the worst ale. After a short silence Adams said, " I fancy, sir, you already perceive me to be a clergyman." " Aye, aye," cries Trulhber, grinning, "I perceive you have some cassock ; I wiU not venture to caale it a whole one." Adams answered, " It was indeed none of the best, but he had the misfortune to tear it about ten years ago in passing over a stile." Mrs. Trulhber, returning with the drink, told her husband ' ' She fancied the gentleman was a travel- ler, and that he would be glad to eat a bit." Trulhber bid her hold her impertinent tongue, and asked her, " If JOSEPH ANDREWS. 189 parsons used to travel without horses ?" adding, " He sup- posed the gentleman had none by his liaving no boots on." " Yes, sir, yes," says Adams, " I have a horse, but I have left him behind me." " I am gkd to hear you have one," says TruUiber, " for I assure you I don't love to see clergy- men on foot ; it is not seemly nor suiting the dignity of the cloth." Here Trulliber made a long oration on the dignity of the cloth (or rather gown) not much worth relat- ing, till his wife had spread the table and set a mess of por- ridge 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 par- sons sat down together, Mrs. Trulliber waiting behind her husband's chair, as was, it seems, her custom. Trulliber ate heartily, but scarce put any thing in his mouth without finding fault with his wife's cookery. All which the poor woman bore patiently. Indeed, she was so absolute an admirer of her husband's greatness and importance, of which she had frequent hints from his own mouth, that she almost carried her adoration to an opinion of his infallibil- ity. 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 partly by that which he re- ceived from the parish. She had, in short, absolutely sub- mitted, and now worshipped her husband as Sarah did Abraham, calling him (not lord, but) master. Whilst they were at table her husband gave her a fresh example of his greatness ; for, as she had just delivered a cup of ale to Adams, he snatched it out of his hands and crying out, 190 THE ADVENTURES OF " I caal'd vurst," swallowed down the ale. Adams denied it ; it was referred to the wife, who, though her conscience was on the side of Adams, durst not give it against her husband ; upon which he said, " No, sir, no ; I should not have been so rude to have taken it from you if you had caal'd vurst, but I'd have you know I'm a better man than to suffer the best he in the kingdom to drink before me in my own house when I caale vurst." As soon as their breakfast was ended, Adams began in the following manner : "I think, sir, it is high time to inform you of the business of my embassy. I am a travel- ler, and am passing this way in company with two young people — a lad and a damsel, my parishioners — towards my own cure ; we stopped at a house of hospitality in the parish, where they directed me to you as having the cure." " Though I am but a cuarte," says TruUiber, " I believe I am as warm as the vicar himself, or perhaps the rector of the next parish too ; I believe I could buy them both." "Sir," cries Adams, "I rejoice thereat. Now, sir, my business is, that we are by various accidents stripped of our money, and are not able to pay our reckoning, being seven shillings. I therefore request you to assist me with the loan of those seven shillings, and also seven shillings more, which, peradventure, I shall return to you ; but if not, I am con- vinced you will joyfuUy 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 law- yer, being imagined a client, when the lawyer was prepar- ing his palm for the fee, should pull out a writ against him. Suppose an apothecary, at the door of a chariot containing some great doctor of eminent skill, should, instead of di- rections to a patient, present him with a potion for him- self. Suppose a minister should, instead of a good round sum, treat my lord »_or sir -, or esq. with a JOSEPH ANDREWS. 191 good broomstick. Suppose a civil companion, or a led captain, should, instead of virtue, and honor, 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 biU, the man of fashion should pay it ; or suppose, if he did so, the tradesman should abate what he had overcharged on the supposition of waiting. In short — suppose what you will, you never can nor will suppose any thing equal to the astonishment which seized on Trulliber as soon as Adams had ended his speech. A while he rolled his eyes in silence, sometimes surveying Adams, then his wife ; then casting them on the ground, then lifting them up to heaven. At last he burst forth in the following accents : " Sir, I believe I know where to lay up my little treasure as well as another. I thank G — , if I am not so warm as some, I am content ; that is a blessing greater than riches ; and he to whom that is given need ask no more. To be content with a Uttle is greater than to possess the world ; which a man may possess without being so. Lay up my treasure ! what matters where a man's treasure is whose heart is in the Scriptures ? there is the treasure of a Chris- tian." At these words the water ran from Adams's eyes ; and catching Trulliber by the hand in a rapture, " Brother," says he, " heaven bless the accident by which I came to see you ! I would have walked many a mile to have communed with you ; and, believe me, I will shortly pay you a second visit ; but my friends, I fancy, by this time wonder at my stay ; so let me have the money imme- diately." Trulliber then put on a stem 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 193 THE AD VENTURESr OF man will venture his life ? he is a beggar, and no robber." "Very tnie indeed," answered Adams. "I wish, with all my heart, the tithing-man was here," cries Trulliber : " I would ha\re thee punished as a vagabond for thy impu- dence. Fourteen shillings indeed ! I won't give thee a farthing. I believe thou art no more a clergyman than the woman there" (pointing to his wife) ; "but if thou art, dost deserve to have thy gown stripped over thy shoulders for running about the country in such a manner." "I forgive your suspicions," says Adams ; " but suppose I am not a clergyman, I am nevertheless thy brother ; and thou, as a Christian, much more as a clergyman, art obliged to relieve my distress." "Dost preach to me?" replied Trulliber ; " dost pretend to instruct me in my duty ?" " If acks, a good story," cries Mrs. Trulliber, "to preach to my master." " Silence, woman, cries Trulliber. "I would have thee know, friend" (addressing himseK to Adams), " I shall not learn my duty from such as thee. I know what charity is better than to give to vagabonds." " Besides, if we were incKned, the poor's rate obliges us to give so much charity," cries the wife. " Pugh ! thou art a fool. Poor's reate ! Hold thy nonsense," answered Trulliber ; and then turning to Adams, he told him "he would give him nothing." "I am sorry," answered Adams, " that you do know what charity is, since you prac- tise it no better ; I must tell you, if you trust to your knowledge for your justification you wiU find yourself deceived, though you should add faith to it, without good works." "Fellow," cries Trulliber, "dost thou speak against faith in my house ? Get out of my doors ; I will no longer remain under the same roof with a wretch who speaks wantonly of faith and the Scriptures." " Name not the Scriptures, ' ' says Adams. ' ' How ! not name the Scriptures ! Do you disbelieve the Scriptures ?" cries Trulliber. " No ; but you do," answered Adams, "if I may reason from JOSEPH ANDREWS. 193 your practice ; for their commands are so explicit, and their rewards and punishments so immense, that it is impos- sible a man should steadfastly beheve without obeying if ow, there is no command more express, no duty more frequently enjoined, than charity. "Whoever, therefore, is void of charity, I make no scruple of pronouncing that he is no Christian." " I would not advise thee," says Trulli- ber, " to say that I am no Christian ; I won't take it of you ; for I believe I am as good a man as thyself" (and indeed, though he was now rather too corpulent for athletic exercises, he had in his youth been one of the best boxers and cudgel- players in the county). His wife, seeing him clench his fist, interposed, and begged him not to fight, but show himseK a true Christian, and take the law of him. As nothing could provoke Adams to strike but an absolute assault on himself or his friend, he smiled at the angry look and gestures of Trulhber ; and telHng him he was sorry to see such men in orders, departed without further ceremony. CHAPTER XV. AN ADVENTUEE THE CONSEQUENCE OF A NEW INSTANCE WHICH PAKSON ADAMS GAVE OP HIS F0KGETFULNE8S. When he came back to the inn he found Joseph and Fanny sitting together. They were so far from thinking his absence long, as he had feared they would, that they never once missed or thought of him. Indeed, I have been often assured by both that they spent these hours in a most delightful conversation ; but as I never could prevail on either to relate it, so I cannot communicate it to the reader, Adams acquainted the lovers with the iU success of his enterprise. They were all greatly confounded, none being able to propose any method of departing, till Joseph at last 194 TSE ADVENTURES OF advised calling in the hostess and desiring her to trust them, which Fanny said she despaired of her doing, as she was one of the sotirest-faced women she had ever beheld. But she was agreeably disappointed, for the hostess was no sooner asked the question than she readily agreed, and with a courtesy and smile, wished them a good journey. However, lest Fanny's skill in physiognomy should be called in question, we will venture to assign one reason which might probably incline her to this confidence and good humor. When Adams said he was going to -visit his brother, he had unwittingly imposed on Joseph and Fanny, who both believed he had meant his natural brother and not his brother in divinity, and had so informed the hostess on her inquiry after him. Now Mr. Trulliber had, by his professions of piety, by his gravity, austerity, reserve, and the opinion of his great wealth, so great an authority in his parish that they all lived in the utmost fear and appre- hension of him. It was therefore no wonder that the host- ess, who knew it was in his option whether she should ever sell another mug of drink, did not dare to affront his sup- posed brother by denying him credit. They were now just on their departure when Adams recollected he had left his great-coat and hat at Mr. Trulh- ber's. As he was not desirous of renewing his visit, the hostess herself, having no servant at home, offered to fetch them. This was an unfortunate expedient ; for the hostess was soon undeceived in the opinion she had entertained of Adams, whom TrulHber abused in the grossest terms, es- pecially when he heard he had had the assurance to pretend to be his near relation. At her return, therefore, she entirely changed her note. She said, " Folks might be ashamed of travelling about and pretending to be what they were not. That taxes were high, and for her part she was obliged to pay for what she JOSEPH ANDREWS. 195 had ; she could not therefore possibly, nor would she, trust anybody — no, not her own father. That money was never scarcer, and she wanted to make up a sum. That she ex- pected, therefore, they should pay their reckoning before they left the house. " Adams was now greatly perplexed ; but as he knew that he could easily have borrowed such a sum in his own par- ish, and as he knew he would have lent it himself to any mortal in distress, so he took fresh courage and sallied out aU round the parish, but to no purpose ; he returned as penniless as he went, groaning and lamenting that it was possible, in a country professing Christianity, for a wretch to starve in the midst of his fellow-creatures who abounded. , Whilst he was gone, the hostess, who stayed as a sort of guard with Joseph and Fanny, entertained them with the goodness of Parson Trulliber. And indeed he had not only a very good character as to other qualities in the neigh- borhood, but was reputed a man of great charity ; for, though he never gave a farthing, he had always that word in his mouth. Adams was no sooner returned the second time than the storm grew exceedingly high, the hostess declaring, among other things, that if they offered to stir without paying her, she would soon overtake them with a warrant. Plato and Aristotle, or somebody else, hath said, ihM when ths most exquisite cunning fcdls, chance often hits the ma/rh, cmd that hy means the least exjpected. Virgil ex- presses this very boldly : Turne, quod optanti dimim, jpromitt&re nemo Auderet, volmnda dies, en ! attvMt ultra, I would quote more great men if I could ; but my memory not permitting me, I wiU proceed to exemplify these observa- tions by the following instance : There chanced (for Adauas had not cunning enough to 196 THE AD-YENTURES OF contrive it) to be at that tiine in the ale-house a fellow who had been formerly a drummer in an Irish regiment, and now travelled the country as a peddler. This man, having attentively listened to the discourse of the hostess, at last took Adams aside and asked him what te sum was for which they were detained. As soon as he was informed, he sighed and said, ' ' He was sorry it was so much ; for that he had no more than six shiUings and sixpence in his pocket, which he would lend them with all his heart." Adams gave a caper and cried out, "It would do; for that he had sixpence himself." And thus these poor people, who could not engage the compassion of riches and piety, were at length deHvered out of their distress by the charity of a poor peddler. I shall refer it to my reader to make what observations he pleases on this incident. It is sufficient for me to inform him that, after Adams and his companions had returned him a thousand thanks, and told him where he might call to be repaid, they all sallied out of the house without any compliments from their hostess, or indeed without paying her any, Adams declaring he would take particular care never to call there again, and she on her side assuring them she wanted no such guests. CHAPTER XVI. A VERT OITEIOUS ADVENTUEE, IN WHICH ME. ADAMS GAVE A MUCH GEEATEE INSTANCE OE THE HONEST SIMPLICITY OF HIS HBAET THAN OF HIS EXPEEIENCB IN THE WAYS OP THIS WOELD. OtfE travellers had walked about two miles from that inn, which they had more reason to have mistaken for a castle than Don Quixote ever had any of those in which he sg JOSEPH ANDREWS. 197 journed, seeing they had met with such difficulty in escaping out of its walls, when they came to a parish, and beheld a sign of invitation hanging out. A gentleman sat smoking a pipe at the door, of whom Adams inquired the road, and received so courteous and obliging an - answer, accompanied with so smiling a countenance, that the good parson, whose -heart was naturally disposed to love and affection, began to ask several other questions, particularly the name of the parish, and who was the owner of a large house whose front they then had in prospect. The gentleman answered as obligingly as before ; and as to the house, acquainted him it was his own. He then proceeded in the following manner : " Sir, I presume by your habit you are a clergy- man ; and as you are travelling on foot I suppose a glass of good beer will not be disagreeable to you ; and I can rec- ommend my landlord's within as some of the best in all this country. What say you, will you halt a little and let us take a pipe together ? there is no better tobacco in the kingdom." This proposal was not displeasing to Adams, who had allayed his thirst that day with no better hquor than what Mrs. Trulhber's cellar had produced, and which was indeed Httle superior, either in richness or flavor, to that which distilled from those grains her generous hus- band bestowed on his hogs. Having therefore abundantly thanked the gentleman for his kind invitation, and bid Joseph and Fanny follow him, he entered the ale-house, where a large loaf and cheese and a pitcher of beer, which truly answered the character given of it, being set before them, the three travellers fell to eating, with appetites infinitely more voracious than are to be found at the most exquisite eating-houses in the parish of St. James's. The gentleman expressed great delight in the hearty and cheerful behavior of Adams, and particularly in the fa- mlUarity with which he conversed with Joseph and Fanny, whom he often called his children, a term he explained to 198 TSE AD VENTURES OF mean no more than Ms parishioners, saying, " He looked on all those whom God had intrusted to his cure to stand to him in that relation." The gentleman, shaking him by the hand, highly applauded those sentiments. " They are in- deed," says he, " the true principles of a Christian divine, and I heartily wish they were universal ; but, on the con- trary, I am sorry to say the parson of our parish, instead of esteeming his poor parishioners as a part of his family, seems rather to consider them as not of the same species with himself. He seldom speaks to any, unless some few of the richest of us ; nay, indeed, he will not move his hat to the others. I often laugh when I behold him on Sundays strut- ting along the churchyard like a turkey-cock through rows of his parishioners, who bow to him with as much submis- sion, and are as unregarded as a set of servile courtiers by the proudest prince in Christendom. But if such temporal pride is ridiculous, gnrgly.J-.hp spiri±uaJ-i«-Q tittle vvivtohes who deal ivitli sti't'i^t mini, togotlior witli soino pi'oiodonts of kttors, being the diffoivut motluHts of answoriiifi a duu 75 CHAPTER Vlll. Ill wliioh our hero cnirios Groatiioss to iiu iaimoderate height 79 ClIAVTER IX. More Greatness in Wild. A low scoiio botwoon Mrs. Hcaitfree and her ohildivii, and a sohcuu' of our hero worthy tlie liisliost admiration, and ovoii astouislinieut 8a CIIAITKR X. Sea advonturos very now and surprisiiiij: 85 C11AFT1-,R XI. The great and wonderful behavior of our lioio in the boat 88 CHAPTER XII. The strange and yet natural osi-ipe of our hero 90 CH.VPTEH XIU. The oonoUlsion of the boat advontuiv and tlio end of the second book. . 93 BOOK III. CHAPTER I. The low and pitiful behavior of Heart fi-oe; and the foolish conduct of his appivutieo 96 CHAPTER II. .\ soliloquy of Heart f roe's, full of low and base ideas, without a sylla- ble of Greatness . , 99 CHAPTER III. ■nTierein our hero proceeds in the road to Givatuess 103 CHAPTER IV. In which a vonng hero, of wonderful good promise, makes his first appearanee, with many other G rout Matters 106 CHAPTEK V. More and more Greatness, unparalleled in history or romance lOS iv CONTENTS CHAPTER VI. PAGE The event of Fireblood's adventure ; and a treaty of marriage, which might have been concluded either at Smithfield or St. James's 113 CHAPTER Vir. Matters preliminary to the marriage between Mr. Jonathan Wild and the chaste Laetitia 116 CHAPTER VIII. A dialogue matrimonial, which passed between Jonathan Wild, esq., and Lsetitia his wife, on the morning of the day fortnight on which his nuptials were celebrated ; which concluded more amicably than those debates generally do 119 CHAPTER IX. Observations on the foregoing dialogue, together with a base design on our hero, which must be detested by every lover of Greatness 123 CHAPTER X. Mr. Wild with unprecedented generosity visits his friend Heartfree, and the ungrateful reception he met with 127 CHAPTER XI.- A scheme so deeply laid, that it shames all the politics of this our age ; with digression and subdigression 130 CHAPTER XII. New Instances of Friendly's folly, &c 133 CHAPTER XIII. Something concerning Fireblood, which will surprise ; and somewhat touching one of the Miss Snaps, which will greatly concern the reader 136 CHAPTER XIV. In which our hero makes a speech well worthy to be celebrated ; and the behavior of one of the gang, perhaps more unnatural than any other part of this history 138 BOOK lY. CHAPTER I. A sentiment of the ordinary's, worthy to be written in letters of gold ; a very extraordinary instance of folly in Eriendly ; and a dreadful accident which befell our iero 144 CONTENTS V CHAPTER II. ^^^^ A short hint concerning popular in gratitude. Mr. Wild's arrival In the castle, with other occurrences to be found in no other history 14S CHAPTER m. Carious anecdotes relating to the history of Newgate 152 CHAPTER IV. The dead-warrant arrives for Heartfree ; on which occasion Wild betrays some human weakness 157 CHAPTER V. Containing various matters 159 CHAPTER VI. In which the foregoing happy incident is accounted for 163 CHAPTER VII. Mrs. Heartfree relates her adventures 165 CHAPTER VIII. In which Mrs. Heartfree continues the relation of her adventures 171 CHAPTER IX. Containing incidents very surprising 175 CHAPTER X. A horrible uproar in the Gate 181 CHAPTER XI. The conclusion of Mrs. Heartfree's adventures 183 CHAPTER XII. The history returns to the contemplation of Greatness 188 CHAPTER XIII. A dialogue between the ordinary of Newgate and Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great ; in which the subjects of death, immortality, and other grave matters, are very learnedly handled by the former 191 CHAPTER XIV. Wild proceeds to the highest consummation of human Greatness 197 CHAPTER XV. The character of our hero, and the conclusion of this history 801, THE HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF THE LATE Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great. BOOK I. CHAPTER I. Showing the wholesome uses drawn from recording the achievements of those wonderful productions of nature called Great Men. As it is necessary that all great and surprising events, the designs of which are laid, conducted, and brought to perfection by the utmost force of human invention and art, should be produced by great and eminent men, so the lives of such may be justly and properly styled the quintessence of history. In these, when delivered to us by sensible writers, we are not only most agreeably en- tertained, but most usefully instructed; for, besides the attaining hence a consummate knowledge of human nature in general ; of its secret springs, various windings, and perplexed mazes; we have here before our eyes lively examples of whatever is amiable or detestable, worthy of admiration or abhorrence, and are conse- quently taught, in a manner infinitely more effectual than by precept, what we are eagerly to imitate or care- fully to avoid. But besides the two obvious advantages of surveying, as it were in a picture, the true beauty of virtue and de- formity of vice, we may moreover learn from Plutarch, 2 JONATHAN WILD. Nepos, Suetonius, and other biographers, this useful lesson, not too hastily, nor in the gross, to bestow either our praise or censure ; since we shall often find such a mixture of good and evil in the same character that it may require a very accurate judgment and a very elabo- rate inquiry to determine on which side the balance turns, for though we sometimes meet with an Aristides or a Brutus, a Lysander or a Nero, yet far the greater num- ber are of the mixed kind, neither totally good nor bad,- their greatest virtues being obscured and allayed by their vices, and those again softened and colored over by their virtues. Of this kind was the illustrious person whose history we now undertake; to whom, though Nature had given the greatest and most shining endowments, she had not given them absolutely pure and without allay. Though he had much of the admirable in his character, as much perhaps as is usually to be found in a hero, I will not yet venture to afBrm that he was entirely free from all de- fects, or that the sharp eyes of censure could not spy out some little blemishes lurking amongst his many great perfections. We would not, therefore, be understood to affect giving the reader a perfect or consummate pattern of human excellence, but rather, by faithfully recording some little imperfections which shadowed over the lustre of those great qualities which we shall here record, to teach the lesson we have above mentioned, to induce our reader with us to lament the frailty of human nature, and to convince him that no mortal, after a thorough scrutiny, can be a proper object of our adoration. But before we enter on this great work we must en- deavor to remove some errors of opinion which mankind have, by the disingenuity of writers, contracted for these, from their fear of contradicting the obsolete and absurd doctrines of a set of simple fellows, called, in derision, sages or philosophers, have endeavored, as much as possible, to JONATHAN WILD. 3 confound the ideas of greatness and goodness ; whereas no two things can possibly be more distinct from each other, for greatness consists in bringing all manner of mischief on mankind, and goodness in removing it from them. It seems therefore very unlikely that the same person should possess them both ; and j'et nothing is more usual with writers, who find many instances of greatness in their favorite hero, than to make him a compliment of goodness into the bargain ; and this, without considering that by such means they destroy the great perfection called uniformity of character. In the histories of Alex- ander and Caesar we are frequently, and indeed imperti- nently, reminded of their benevolence and generosity, of their clemency and kindness. When the former had with fire and sword overrun a vast empire, had destroyed the lives of an immense number of innocent wretches, had scattered ruin and desolation like a whirlwind, we are told, as an example of his clemency, that he did not cut the throat of an old woman, and ravish her daughters, but was content with only undoing them. And when the mighty Caesar, with wonderful greatness of mind, had destroyed the liberties of his country, and with all the means of fraud and force had placed himself at the head of his equals, had corrupted and enslaved the greatest people whom the sun ever saw, we are reminded, as an evidence of his generosity, of his largesses to his follow- ers and tools, by whose means he had accomplished his purpose, and by whose assistance he was to establish it. Now, who doth not see that such sneaking qualities as these are rather to be bewailed as imperfections than admired as ornaments in these great men ; rather obscur- ing their glory, and holding them back in their race to greatness, indeed unworthy the end for which they seem to have come into the world, Aiz : of perpetrating vast and mighty mischief ? We hope our reader will have reason justly to acquit us of any such confounding ideas in the following pages, 4 JONATHAN WILD. in which, as we are to record the actions of a great man, so we have nowhere mentioned any spark of goodness which had discovered itself either faintly in him, or more glaringly in any other person, but as a meanness and im- perfection, disqualifying them for undertakings which lead to honor and esteem among men. As our hero had as little as perhaps is to be found of that meanness, indeed only enough to make him partaker of the imperfection of humanity, instead of the perfection of diabolism, we have ventured to call him The Great ; nor do we doubt but our reader, when he hath perused his story, will concur with us in allowing him that title. CHAPTER II. Giving an account of as many of our hero's ancestors as can be gathered out of the rubbish of antiquity, which hath been care- fully sifted for that purpose. It is the custom of all biographers, at their entrance into their work, to step a little backwards (as far, indeed, generally as they are able) and to trace up their hero, as the ancients did the river Nile, till an incapacity of pro- ceeding higher puts an end to I heir search. What first gave rise to this method is somewhat diflB- cult to determine. Sometimes I have thought that the hero's ancestors have been introduced as foils to himself. Again, I have imagined it might be to obviate a suspi- cion that such extraordinary personages were not pro- duced in the ordinary course of nature, and may have proceeded from the author's fear that, if we were not told who their fathers were, they might be in danger, like Prince Prettyman, of being supposed to have had none. Lastly, and perhaps more truly, I have conjectured that the design of the biographer hath been no more than to show his great learning and knowledge of antiquity ; a JONATHAN WILD. 5 design to which the world hath prohably owed many not- able discoveries, and indeed most of the labors of our antiquarians. But whatever original this custom had, it is now too well established to be disputed. I shall therefore conform to it in the strictest manner. Mr. Jonathan Wild, or Wyld, then (for he himself did not always agree in one method of spelling his name), was descended from the great Wolfstan Wild, who came over with Hengist, and distinguished himself very emi- nently at that famous festival where the Britons were so treacherously murdered by the Saxons ; for when the the word was given, i. e., Nemet eour Saxes, take out your swords, this gentleman, being a little hard of hear- ing, mistook the sound for Nemet her saca, take out their purses; instead therefore of applying to the throat, he immediately applied to the pocket of his guest, and contented himself with taking all that he had, without attempting his life. The next ancestor of our hero who was remarkably eminent was Wild, surnamed Langfanger, or Longfinger. He flourished in the reign of Henry III., and was strictlj' attached to Hubert de Burgh, whose friendship he was recommended to by his great excellence in an art of which Hubert was himself the inventor ; he could, without the knowledge of the proprietor, with great ease and dex- terity, draw forth a man's purse from any part of his garment where it was deposited, and hence he derived his surname. This gentleman was the first of his family who had the honor to suffer for the good of his country, on whom a wit of that time made the following epitaph; O shame o' justice ! Wild is hang'd, For thatten he a pocket fauged, While safe old Hubert, and his gang, Doth pocket o' the nation fang. Langfanger left a son named Edward, whom he had carefully instructed in the art for which he himself was 6 JONATHAN WILD. so famous. This Edward had a grandson, who served as a volunteer under the famous Sir John Falstaff, and by his g-allant demeanor so recommended himself to his cap- tain, that he would have certainly been promoted by him had Harry the Fifth kept his word with his old com- panion. After the death of Edward the family remained in some obscurity down to the reign of Charles the First, when James Wild distinguished himself on both sides the ques- tion in the civil wars, passing from one to t'other, as Heaven seemed to declare itself in favor of either party. At the end of the war, James not being rewarded accord- ing to his merits, as is usually the case of such impartial persons, he assbciated himself with a brave man of those times, whose name was Hind, and declared open war with both parties. He was successful in several actions, and spoiled many of the enemy; till at length, being over- powered and taken, he was, contrary to the law of arms, put basely and cowardly to death by a combination be- tween twelve men of the enemy's party, who, after some consultation, unanimously agreed on the said murder. This Edward took to wife Rebecca, the daughter of the above-mentioned John Hind, Esq., by whom he had issue John, Edward, Thomas, and Jonathan, and three daugh- ters, namely, Grace, Charity, and Honor. John followed the fortunes of his father, and, suffering with him, left no issue. Edward was so remarkable for his compassionate temper that he spent his life in soliciting the causes of the distressed captives in Newgate, and is reported to have held a strict friendship with an eminent divine who so- licited the spiritual causes of the said captives. He mar- ried Editha, daughter and co-heiress of Geoffry Snap, gent., who long enjoyed an ofllce under the high sheriff of London and Middlesex, by which with great reputation, he acquired a handsome fortune; by her he had no issue. Thomas went very young abroad to one of our American colonies, and hath not been since heard of. As for the JONATHAN WILD. 7 daughters, Grace was married to a merchant of York- shire, who dealt in horses. Charity took to husband an eminent gentleman, whose name I cannot learn, but who was famous for so friendly a disposition that he was bail for above a hundred persons in one year. He had like- wise the remarkable humor of walking in Westminster Hall with a straw in his shoe. Honor, the youngest, died unmarried; she lived many years in this town, was a great frequenter of plays, and used to be remarkable for distributing oranges to all who would accept of them. Jonathan married Elizabeth, daughter of Scragg Hol- low, of Hockley-in-the-Hole, Esq., and by her had Jona- than, who is the illustrious subject of these memoirs. CHAPTER III. The birth, parentage, and education of Mr. Jonathan Wild the Cfreat. It is observable that Nature seldom produces any one who is afterwards to act a notable part on the stage of life, but she gives some warning of her intention ; and, as the dramatic poet generally prepares the entry of every considerable character with a solemn narrative, or at least a great flourish of drums and trumpets, so doth this our Alma Mater by some shrewd hints pre-admonish us of her intention, giving us warning, as it were, and cry- ing— Venienti occurite morbo. Thus Astyages, who was the grandfather of Cyrus, dreamt that his daughter was brought to bed of a vine, whose branches overspread all Asia ; and Hecuba, while big with Paris, dreamt that she was delivered of a fire- brand that set all Troy in flames ; so did the mother of our great man, while she was of child with him, dream that she was enjoyed in the night by the gods Mercury 8 JONATHAN WILD. and Priapus. This dream puzzled all the learned astrol- ogers of her time, seeming to imply in it a contradiction ; Mercurj'^ being the god of ingenuity, and Priapus the terror of those who practised it. What made this dream the more wonderful, and perhaps the true cause of its being remembered, was a very extraordinary circum- stance, sufficiently denoting something preternatural in it; for though she had never heard even the name of either of these gods, she repeated these very words in the morn- ing, with only a small mistake of the quantity of the latter, which she chose to call Priapus instead of Priapus; and her husband swore that, though he might possibly have named Mercury to her (for he had heard of such an heathen god), he never in his life could anywise have put her in mind of that other deity, with whom he had no acquaintance. Another remarkable incident was, that during her whole pregnancy she constantly longed for everything she saw; nor could be satisfied with her wish unless she enjoyed it clandestinely ; and as nature, by true and accurate observers, is remarked to give us no appetites without furnishing us with the means of gratifying them, so had she at this time a most marvelous glutinous quality attending her fingers, to which, as to birdlime, everything closely adhered that she handled. To omit other stories, some of which may be, perhaps, the growth of superstition, we proceed to the birth of our hero, who made his first appearance on this great theatre the very day when the plague first broke out in 1665. Some say his mother was delivered of him in an house of an orbicular or round form in Covent Garden; but of this we are not certain. He was some years afterwards bap- tized by the famous Mr. Titus Gates. Nothing very remarkable passed in his years of infancy, save that, as the letters th are the most difficult of pro- nunciation, and the last which a child attains to the utter- ance of, so they were the first that came with any readi- JONATHAN WILD. . 9 ness from young Master Wild. Nor must we omit the early indications which he gave of the sweetness of his temper; for though he was by no means to be terrified into compliance, yet might he, by a sugar-plum, be brought to your purpose; indeed, to say the truth, he was to be bribed to anything, which made many say he was certainly born to be a great man. He was scarcely settled at school before he gave marks of his lofty and aspiring temper and was regarded by all his schoolfellows with that deference which men gener- ally pay to those superior geniuses who will exact it of them. If an orchard was to be robbed Wild was con- sulted, and though he was himself seldom concerned in the execution of the design, yet was he always concerter of it, and treasurer of the booty, some little part of which he would now and then, with wonderful generosity, bestow on those who took it. He was generally very secret on these occasions, but if any offered to plunder of his own head, without acquainting Master Wild, and making a deposit of the booty, he was sure to have an information against him lodged with the schoolmaster, and to be severely punished for his pains. He discovered so little attention to school-learning that his master, who was a very wise and worthy man, soon gave over all care and trouble on that account, and, ac- quainting his parents that their son proceeded extremely well in his studies, he permitted his pupil to follow his own inclinations, perceiving they led him to nobler pur- suits than the sciences, which are generally acknowl- edged to be a very unprofitable study, and indeed greatly to hinder the advancement of men in the world; but though Master Wild was not esteemed the readiest at making his exercise, he was universally allowed to be the most dexterous at stealing it of all his schoolfellows being never detected in such furtive compositions, nor indeed in any other exercitations of his great talents, which all inclined the same way, but once, when he had 10 JONATHAN WILD. laid violent hands on a book called Gradus ad Pornas- sum, i. e., A step towards Parnassus, on which '-iccount his master, who was a man of most wonderful wit and sag-acity, is said to have told him he wished it might not prove in the event Gradus ad Patibulum, i. e., A step towards the gallows. But, though he would not give himself the pains re- quisite to acquire a competent sufficiency in the learned languages, yet did he readily listen with attention to others, especially when they translated the classical authors to him; nor was he in the least backward, at all such times, to express his approbation. He was wonder- fully pleased with that passage in the eleventh Iliad where Achilles is said to have bound two sons of Priam upon a mountain, and afterwards to have released them for a sum of money. This was, he said, alone sufficient to refute those who affected a contempt for the wisdom of the ancients, and an undeniable testimony of the great antiquity of priggism.* He was ravished with the ac- count which Nestor gives in the same book of the rich booty which he bore off (i. e., stole) from the Eleans. He was desirous of having this often repeated to him, and at the end of every repetition he constantly fetched a deep sigh, and said it was a glorious booty. When the story of Cacus was read to him out of the eighth ^neid he generously pitied the unhappy fate of that great man, to whom he thought Hercules much too severe; one of his schoolfellows commending the dexterity of drawing the oxen backward by their tails into his den, he smiled, and with some disdain said. He could have taught him a better way. He was a passionate admirer of heroes, particularly of Alexander the Great, between whom and the late King of Sweden he would frequently draw parallels. He was much delighted with the accounts of the Czar's retreat from the latter, who carried off the inhabitants of great * This word, iu the cant langruage, signifies thievery. JONATHAN WILD. 11 cities to people his own country. This, he said, was not once thought of by Alexander; but added, perhaps he did not want them. Happy had it been for him if he had confined himself to this sphere; but his chief, if not only blemish, was, that he would sometimes, from an humility in his nature too pernicious to true greatness, condescend to an inti- macy with inferior things and persons. Thus the Span- ish Rogue was his favorite book, and the Cheats of Scapin his favorite play. The young gentleman being now at the age of seven- teen, his father, from a foolish prejudice to our univer- sities, and out of a false as w ell as excessive regard to his morals, brought his son to town, where he resided with him till he was of an age to travel. Whilst he was here, all imaginable care was taken of his instruction, his father endeavoring his utmost to inculcate principles of honor and gentility into his son. CHAPTER IV. Mr. Wild's first entrance into the world. His acquaintance with Count La Ruse. An accident happened soon after his arrival in town which almost saved the father his whole labor on this head, and provided Master Wild a better tutor than any after-care or expense could have furnished him with. The old gentleman, it seems, was a follower of the for- tunes of Mr. Snap, son of Mr. Geoffry Snap, whom we have before mentioned to have enjoyed a reputable office under the sheriff of London and Middlesex, the daughter of which Geoffry had intermarried with the Wilds. Mr. Snap the younger, being thereto well warranted, had laid violent hands on, or, as the vulgar express it, arrested one Count La Ruse, a man of considerable figure in those W— 2 12 JONATHAN WILD. days, and had confined him to his own house till hiS could find two seconds who would in a formal manner give their words that the count should, at a a certain day and place appointed, answer all that one Thomas Thimble, a tailor, had to say to him ; which Thomas Thimble, it seems, al- leged that the count had, according to the law of the realm, made over his body to him as a security for some suits of clothes to him delivered by the said Thomas Thimble. Now, as the count, though perfectly a man of honor, could not immediately find these seconds, he was obliged for some time to reside at Mr. Snap's house; for it seems the law of the land is, that whoever owes an- other lOZ., or indeed 3Z., may be, on the oath of that per- son, immediately taken up and carried away from his own house and family, and kept abroad till he is made to owe bOl., whether he will or no ; for which he is perhaps after- wards obliged to lie in jail ; and all these without any trial had,or any other evidence of the debt than the above- said oath, which, if untrue, as it often happens, you have no remedy against the perjurer ; he was, forsooth, mis- taken. But though Mr. Snap would not (as perhaps by the nice rules of honor he was obliged) discharge the count on his parole, yet did he not (as by the strict rules of law he was enabled) confine him to his chamber. The count had his liberty of the whole house, and Mr. Snap, using only the precaution of keeping his doors well locked and barred, took his prisoner's word that he would not go forth. Mr. Snap had by his second lady two daughters, who were now in the bloom of their youth and beauty. These young ladies, like damsels in romance, compassionated the captive count, and endeavored by all means to make his confinement less irksome to him ; which, though they were both very beautiful, they could not attain by any other way so effectually as by engaging with him at cards, in which contentions, as will appear hereafter, the count was greatly skillful. JONATHAN WILD. 13 As whisk and swabbers was the game then in the chief vogue, they were obliged to look for a fourth person in order to make up their parties. Mr. Snap himself would sometimes relax his mind from the violent fatigues of his employment by these recreations ; and sometimes a neigh- boring young gentleman or lady came in to their assist- ance; but the most frequent guest was young Master Wild, who had been educated from his infancy with the Miss Snaps, and was, by all the neighbors, allotted for the husband of Miss Tishy, or Lsetitia, the younger of the two ; for though, being his cousin-german, she was, per- haps, in the eye of a strict conscience, somewhat too nearly related to him, yet the old people on both sides, though sufficiently scrupulous in nice matters, agreed to overlook this objection. Men of great genius as easily discover one another as free-masons can. It was therefore no wonder that the count soon conceived an inclination to an intimacy with our young hero, whose vast abilities could not be con- cealed from one of the count's discernment, for though this latter was so expert at his cards that he was proverbi- ally said to play the whole game, he was no match for Master Wild, who, inexperienced as he was, notwithstand- ing all the art, the dexterity, and often the fortune of his adversary, never failed to send him away from the table with less in his pocket than he brought to it, for indeed Langfanger himself could not have extracted a purse with more ingenuity than our young hero. His hands made frequent visits to the count's pocket before the latter had entertained any suspicion of him, imputing the several losses he sustained rather to the in- nocent and sprightly frolic of Miss Doshy, or Theodosia, with which, as she indulged him with little innocent free- doms about her person in return, he thought himself obliged to be contented ; but one night, when Wild im- agined the count asleep, he made so unguarded an attack upon him, that the other caught him in the act ; however, 14 JONATHAN WILD. he did not think proper to acquaint him with the discov- ery he had made, but, preventing him from any booty at that time, he only took care for the future to button his pockets, and to pack the cards with double industry. So far was this detection from causing any quarrel between these two prigs*, that in reality it recommended them to each other ; for a wise man, that is to say a rogue, considers a trick in life as a gamester doth a trick at play. It sets him on his guard, but he admires the dexterity of him who plays it. These, therefore, and many other such instances of ingenuity, operated so vio- lently on the count, that, notwithstanding the disparity which age, title, and above all, dress, had set between them, he resolved to enter into an acquaintance with Wild. This soon produced a perfect intimacy, and that a friendship, which had a longer duration than is common to that passion between persons who only propose to themselves the common advantages of eating, drinking, whoring, or borrowing money ; which ends, as they soon fail, so doth the friendship founded upon them. Mutual interest, the greatest of all purposes, was the cement of this alliance, which nothing, of consequence, but superior interest, was capable of dissolving. CHAPTER V. A dialogue between young Master Wild and Count La Ruse, whio\ having extended to the rejoinder, had a very quiet, easy and _ natural conclusion. One evening, after the Miss Snaps were retired to rest, the count thus addressed himself to young Wild : " You cannot, I apprehend, Mr. Wild, be such a stranger to your own great capacity, as to be surprised when I tell you I have often viewed with a mixture of astonishment JONATHAN WILD. 15 ands,concem, your shining qualities confined to a sphere where they can never reach the eyes of those who would introduc3 them properly into the world, and raise you to an eminence where you may blaze out to the admiration of all men. I assure you I am pleased with my captivity, when I reflect I am likely to owe to it an acquaintance, and I hope friendship, with the greatest genius of my age ; and, what is still more, when I indulge my vanity with a prospect of drawing from obscurity (pardon the expression) such talents as were, I believe, never before like to have been b uried in it ; for I make no question but, at my discharge from confinement, which will now soon happen, I shall be able to introduce you into company, where you may reap the advantage of your superior parts. "I will bring you acquainted, sir, with those who, as they are capable of setting a true value on such qualifica- tions, so they will have it both in their power and inclina- tion to prefer you for them. Such an introduction is the only advantage you want, without which your merit might be j^our misfortune ; for those abilities which would entitle you to honor and profit in a superior station may render you only obnoxious to danger and disgrace in a lower." Mr. Wild answered: "Sir, 1 am not insensible of my obligations to you, as well for the overvalue you have set on my small abilities, as for the kindness you express in offering to introduce me among my superiors. I must own my father hath often persuaded me to push myself into the company of my betters ; but, to say the truth, 1 have an awkward pride in my nature, which is better pleased with being at the head of the lowest class than at the bottom of the highest. Permit me to say, though the idea may be somewhat coarse, I had rather stand on the summit of a dunghill than at the bottom of a hill in Para- dise. I have always thought it signifies little into what rank of life I am thrown, provided I make a great figure 16 JONATHAN WILD. therein, and should be as well satisfied with exertin,^' my talents well at the head of a small party or ganfj, as in the command of a mighty army; for I am 'far from agreemg with you, that great parts are often lost in a low situation; on the contrary, I am convinced it is impossible they should be lost. I have often persuaded myself that there were not fewer than a thousand in Alexander's troops capable of performing what Alexander himself did. " But, because such spirits were not elected or destined to an imperial command, are we therefore to imagine they came off without a booty ? or that they contented them- selves with the share in conamon with their comrades ? Surely, no. In civil life, doubtless, the same genius, the same endowments, have often composed the statesman .and the prig, for so we call what the vulgar name a thieft-^The_same„parts, the same actions, often promote men to the head of superior societies, which raise them to the head of lower ; and where is the essential diflference if the one ends on Tower-hill and the other at Tyburn ? Hath the block any preference to the gallows, or the axe to the halter, but was given them by the ill-guided judg- ment of men ? You will pardon me, therefore, if I am not so hastily inflamed with the common outside of things, nor join the general opinion in preferring one state to another. A guinea is as valuable in a leathern as in an embroidered purse ; and a cod's head is a cod's head still, whether in a pewter or a silver dish." The count rephed as follows : " What you have now said doth not lessen my idea of your capacity, but confirms my opinion of the ill effects of bad and low company. Can any man doubt whether it is better to be a great states- man or a common thief ? I have often heard that the devil used to say, where or to whom I know not, that it was better to reign in Hell than to be a valet- de-chambre in Heaven, and perhaps he was in the right ; but sure, if he had had the choice of reigning in either, he would have JONATHAN WILD. VI chosen better. The truth therefore is, that by low con- versation we contract a greater awe for high things than they deserve. We decline great pursuits not from con- tempt but despair. The man who prefers the highroad to a more reputable way of making his fortune, doth it because he imagines the one easier than the other; but you yourself have asserted, and with undoubted truth, that the same abilities qualify you for undertaking, and the same means will bring you to your end in both journeys — as in music it is the same tune, whether you play it in a higher or a lower key. To instance in some particulars : is it not the same qualification which enables this man to hire himself as a servant, and to get into the confidence and secrets of his master in order to rob him, and to undertake trusts of the highest nature with a design to break and betray them ? Is it less difficult by false tokens to deceive a shopkeeper into the delivery of his goods, which you afterwards run away with, than to impose upon him by outward splendor and the appear- ance of fortune into a credit by which you gain and he loses twenty times as much ? Doth it not require more dexterity in the fingers to draw out a man's purse from his pocket, or to take a lady's watch from her side, with- out being perceived of any (an excellence in which, with- out flattery, I am persuaded you have no superior), than to cog a die or to shuffle a pack of cards ? Is not as much art, as many excellent quahties, required to make a pimping porter at a common bawdy-house as would enable a man to prostitute his own or his friend's wife or child ? Doth it not ask as good a memory, as nimble an invention, as steady a countenance, to forswear yourself in Westminster-hall as would furnish out a complete fool of state, or perhaps a statesman himself ? It is needless to particularize every instance ; in all we shall find that there is a nearer connection between high and low life than is generally imagined, and that a highwayman is entitled to more favor with the great than he usually meets with,. 18 JONATHAN WILD. If, therefore, as I think I have proved, the same parts which qualify a man for eminence in a low sphere, qualify Mm likewise for eminence in a higher, sure it can be no doubt in which he would choose to exert them. Ambition, without which no one can be a great man, will immedi- ately instruct him, in your own phrase, to prefer a hill in Paradise to a dunehill; nay, even fear, a passion the most repugnant to greatness, will show him how much more safely he may indulge himself in the free and full exertion of his mighty abilities in the higher than in the lower rank ; since experience teaches him that there is a crowd oftener in one year at Tyburn than on Tower-hill in a century." Mr. Wild, with much solemnity rejoined, " That the same capacity which qualifies a mill-ken,* a bridle-cull,f or a buttock-and-file,J to arrive at any degree of eminence in his profession, would likewise raise a man in what the world esteem a more honorable calling, I do not deny ; nay, in many of your instances it is evi- dent that more ingenuity, more art, is necessary to the lower than the higher proficients. If, therefore, you "had only contended that every prig might be a statesman if he pleased, I had readily agreed to it ; but when you conclude that it is his interest to be so, that ambition would bid him take that alternative, in a word, that a statesman is greater or happier than a prig, I must deny my assent. But, in comparing these two to- gether, we must carefully avoid being misled by the vul- gar erroneous estimation of things, for mankind err in disquisitions of this nature as physicians do who in con- sidering the operations of a disease have not a due regard to the age and complexion of the patient. The same de- gree of heat which is common in this constitution may be a fever in that ; in the same manner that which may be riches or honor to me may be poverty or disgrace to another ; for all these things are to be estimated by rela- * A liousebreaker. | A highwayman. I A shoplifter. Terms used in the Cant Dictionary, JONATHAN WILD. 19 tion to the person who possesses them. A booty of lOZ. looks as great in the eye of a bridle-cull, and gives as much real happiness to his fancy, as that of as many thousands to the statesman ; and doth not the former lay out his acquisitions in whores and fiddles with much greater joy and mirth than the latter in palaces and pic- tures ? What are the flattery, the false compliments of his gang to the statesman, when he himself must con- demn his own blunders, and is obliged against his will to give fortune the whole honor of success ? What is the pride resulting from such sham applause, compared to the secret satisfaction which a prig enjoys in his mind in reflecting on a well-contrived and well-executed scheme ? Perhaps, indeed, the greater danger is on the prig's side ; but then you must remember that the greater honor is so too. When I mention honor, I mean that which is paid him by his gang ; for that weak part of the world which is vulgarly called THE WISE see both in a disadvan- tageous and disgraceful light; and as the prig enjoys (and merits too) the greater degree of honor from his gang, so doth he suffer the less disgrace from the world, who thinks his misdeeds, as they call them, sufficiently at last punished with a halter, which at once puts an end to his pain and infamy ; whereas the other is not only hated in power, but detested and condemned at the scaf- fold ; and future ages vent their malice on his fame, while the other sleeps quiet and forgotten. Besides, let us a little consider the secret quiet of their conscience ; how easy is the reflection of having taken a few shilUngs or pounds from a stranger, without any breach of confi- dence, or perhaps any great harm to the person who loses it, compared to that of having betrayed a public trust, and ruined the fortunes of thousands, perhaps of a great nation ! How much braver, is an attack on the highway than at the gaming-table ; and how much more innocent the character of a b — dy-house than a c — t pimp ! " He was eagerly proceeding, when, casting his 20 JONATHAN WILD, eyes on the count, he perceived him to be fast asleep ; wherefore, having first picked his pocket of three shil- lings, then gently jogged him in order to take his leave, and promised to return to him the next morning to break- fast, they separated ; the count retired to rest, and Mas- ter Wild to a night-ceUar, CHAPTER VI. Fwrth&t conferences between the count and, Master Wild, with other matters of the great hind. The count missed his money the next morning, and very well knew who had it; but, as he knew likewise how fruitless would be any complaint, he chose to pass it by without mentioning it. Indeed it may appear strange to some readers that these gentlemen, who knew each other to be thieves, should never once give the least hint of this knowledge in all their discourse together, but, on the con- trary, should have the words honesty, honor, and friend- ship as often in their mouths as any other man. This, I say, may appear strange to some ; but those who have lived long in cities, courts, jails, or such places, will perhaps be able to solve the seeming absurdity. When our two friends met the next morning the count (who, though he did not agree with the whole of his friend's doctrine, was, however, highly pleased with his argument) began to bewail the misfortune of his captiv- ity, and the backwardness of friends to assist each other in their necessities ; but what vexed him, he said, most, was the cruelty of the fair ; for he intrusted Wild with the secret of his having had an intrigue with Miss Theo- dosia, the elder of the Miss Snaps, ever since his confine- ment, though he could not prevail with her to set him at liberty. Wild answered, with a smile, "It was no wonder a woman should wish, to confine her lover where JONATHAN WILD. 31 she mig-lat be sure of having Mm entirely to herself;" but added, " he believed he could tell him a method of cer- tainly procuring his escape . ' ' The count eagerly besought him to acquaint him with it. "Wild told him bribery was the surest means, and advised him to apply to the maid. The count thanked him, but returned, " That he had not a farthing left besides one guinea, which he had then given her to change." To which Wild said, "He must make it up with promises, which he supposed he was courtier enough to know how to put off." The count greatly applauded the advice, and said he hoped he should be able in time to persuade him to condescend to be a great man, for which he was so perfectly well qualified. This method being concluded on, the two friends sat down to cards, a circumstance which I should not have mentioned but for the sake of observing the prodigious force of habit ; for though the count knew if he won ever so much of Mr. Wild he should not receive a shilling, yet could he not refrain from packing the cards ; nor could Wild keep his hands out of his friend's pockets, though he knew there was nothing in them. When the maid came home the count began to put it to her ; offered her all he had, and promised mountains in futuro; but all in vain — the maid's honesty was im- pregnable. She said, " She would not break her trust for the whole world ; no, not if she could gain a hundred pound by it." Upon which Wild stepping up and telling her " She need not fear losing her place, for it would never be found out ; that they could throw a pair of sheets into the street, by which it might appear he got out at a window; that he himself would swear he saw him de- scending ; that the money would be so much gains in her pocket ; that, besides his promises, which she might de- pend upon being performed, she would receive from him twenty shillings and ninepence in ready money (for she had only laid out threepence in plain Spanish) ; and lastly, that, besides his honor, the count should leave a pair of 23 JONATHAN WILD. gold buttons (whicli afterwards turned out to be brass) of great value in her bands, as a further pawn." The maid still remained inflexible, till Wild offered to lend his friend a guinea more, and to deposit it immedi- ately in her hands. This reinforcement bore down the poor girl's resolution, and she faithfully promised to open the door to the count that evening. Thus did our youpg hero not only lend his rhetoric, which few people care to do without a fee, but his money too (a sum which many a good man would have made fifty excuses before he would have parted with), to his friend, and procured him his liberty. But it would be highly derogatory from the great character of Wild, should the reader imagine he lent such a sum to a friend without the least view of serving him- self. As, therefore, the reader may account for it in a manner more advantageous to our hero's reputation, by concluding that he had some interested view in the count's enlargement, we hope he will judge with charity, es- pecially as the sequel makes it not only reasonable but necessary to suppose he had some such view. A long intimacy and friendship subsisted between the count and Mr. Wild, who, being by the advice of the count dressed in good clothes, was by him introduced into the best company. They constantly frequented the assemblies, auctions, gaming-tables, and play-houses ; at which last they saw two acts every night, and then re- tired .without paying — this being, it seems, an immemo- rial privilege which the beaux of the town prescribe for to themselves. This, however, did not suit Wild's temper, who called it a cheat, and objected against it as requiring no dexterity, but what every blockhead might put in ex- ecution. He said it was a custom very much savoring of the sneaking-budge *, but neither so honorable nor so in- genious. Wild now made a considerable figure, and passed for » Shoplifting. JONATHAN WILD. 23 a gentleman of great fortune in the funds. Women of B[uality treated him with great familiarity, young ladies began to spread their charms for him, when an accident happened that put a stop to his continuance in a way of life too insipid and inactive to afford employment for those great talents which were designed to make a much more considerable figure in the world than attends the character of a beau or a pretty gentleman. CHAPTER VII. Master Wild sets out on his travels, and returns hovne again. A very short chapter, containing infinitely more time and less mat ter than any other in the whole story. We are sorry we cannot indulge our reader's curiosity with a full and perfect account of this accident; but as there are such various accounts, one of which only can be true, and possibly and indeed probably none; instead of following the general method of historians, who in such cases set down the various reports, and leave to your own conjecture which you will choose, we shall pass them all over. Certain it is that, whatever this accident was, it deter- mined our hero's father to send his son immediately abroad for seven years ; and, which may seem somewhat remarkable, to his majesty's plantations in America — that part of the world being, as he said, freer from vices than the courts and cities of Europe, and consequently less dangerous to corrupt a young man's morals. And as for the advantages, the old gentleman thought they were equal there with those attained in the poUter climates; for traveling, he said, was traveling in one part of the world as well as another ; it consisted in being such a time from home, and in traversing so many leagues ; and appealed to experience whether most of oui 24 JONATHAN WILD. travelers in France and Italy did not prove at their return that they might have heen sent as profitably to Norway and Greenland. According to these resolutions of his father, the young gentleman went aboard a ship, and with a great deal of good company set out for the American hemisphere. The exact time of his stay is somewhat uncertain ; most prob- ably longer than was intended. But howsoever long his abode there was, it must be a blank in this history, as the whole story contains not one adventure worthy the reader's notice ; being indeed a continued scene of whor- ing, drinking, and removing from one place to another. To confess a truth, we are so ashamed of the shortness of this chapter, that we should have done a violence to our history, and have inserted an adventure or two of some other traveler ; to which purpose we borrowed the jour- nals of several young gentlemen who have lately made the tour of Europe ; but to our great sorrow, could not extract a single incident strong enough to justify the theft to our conscience. When we consider the ridiculous figure this chapter must make, being the history of no less than eight years, our only comfort is, that the histories of some men's lives, and perhaps of some men who have made a noise in the world, are in reality as absolute blanks as the travels of our hero. As, therefore, we shall make sufScient amends in the sequel for this inanity, we shall hasten on to matters of true importance and immense greatness. At present we content ourselves with setting down our hero where we took him up, after acquainting our reader that he went abroad, stayed seven years, and then came home again. JONATHAN WILD. 25 CHAPTER VIII. An adventure where Wild, in the division of the booty, exhibits an astonishing instance of greatness. The count was one nig-ht very successful at the hazard- table, where Wild, who was just returned from his travels, was then present ; as was likewise a young gen- tleman whose name was Bob Bagshot, an acquaintance of Mr. Wild's, and of whom he entertained a great opinion; taking, therefore, Mr. Bagshot aside, he advised him to prepare himself (if he had not them about him) with a pair of pistols, and to attack the count on his way home, promising to plant himself near with the same arms, as a corps de reserve, and to come up on occasion. This was accordingly executed, and the count obliged to surrender to savage force what he had in so genteel and civil a manner taken at play. And as it is a wise and philosophical observation, that one misfortune never comes alone, the count had hardly passed the examination of Mr. Bagshot when he fell into the hands of Mr. Snap, who, in company with Mr. Wild the elder, and one or two more gentlemen, being, it seems, thereto well warranted, laid hold of the unfortunate count, and conveyed him back to the same house from which, by the assistance of his good friend, he had formerly es- caped. Mr. Wild and Mr. Bagshot went together to the tavern, where Mr. Bagshot (generously as he thought) offered to share the booty, and having divided the money into two unequal heaps, and added a golden snuff-box to the lesser heap, he desired Mr. Wild to take his choice. Mr. Wild immediately conveyed the larger share of the ready into his pocket, according to an excellent maxim of his, "First secure what share you can before you wrangle for the rest;" and then, turning to his companion, he 26 JONATHAN WILD. asked with a stern countenance whether he intended to keep all that sum to himself ? Mr. Bagshot answered, with some surprise, that he thought Mr. Wild had no reason to complain ; for it was surely fair, at least on his part, to content himself with an equal share of the booty, who had taken the whole. " I grant you took it," re- plied Wild, "but, pray, who proposed or counseled the taking it ? Can you say that you have done more than executed my scheme ? and might not I, if I had pleased, have employed another, since you well know there was not a gentleman in the room but would have taken the money if he had known how conveniently and safely to doit?" — "That is very true," returned Bagshot, "but did not I execute the scheme, did not I run the whole risk ? Should not I have suffered the whole punishment if I had been taken, and is not the laborer worthy of his hire?" — " Doubtless," says Jonathan, "he is so, and your hire I shall not refuse you, which is all that the laborer is en- titled to or ever enjoj'^s. I remember when I was at school to have heard some verses which for the excellence of their doctrine made an impression on me, purporting that the birds of the air and the beasts of the field work not for themselves. It is true, the farmer allows fodder to his oxen and pasture to his sheep ; but it is for his own service, not theirs. In the same manner the ploughman, the shepherd, the weaver, the builder, and the soldier, work not for themselves but others ; they are contented with a poor pittance (the laborer's hire), and permit us, the GREAT, to enjoy the fruit of their labors. Aris- totle, as my master told us, hath plainly proved, in the first book of his poUtics, that the low, mean, useful part of mankind, are born slaves to the will of their superiors, and are indeed as much their property as the cattle. It is well said of us, the higher order of mortals, that we are born only to devour the fruits of the earth, and it may be as well said of the lower class, that they are bom only to produce them for us. Is not the battle gained by the sweat JONATHAN WILD. 37 and danger of the common soldier ? Are not the honor and fruits of the victory the general's who laid the scheme ? Is not the house buUt by the labor of the carpenter and the bricklayer ? Is it not built for the profit only of the architect and for the use of the inhabitant, who could not easily have placed one brick upon another ? Is not the cloth or the silk wrought into its form and variegated with all the beauty of colors by those who are forced to content themselves with the coarsest and vilest part of their work, while the profit and enjoyment of their labors fall to the share of others ? Cast your eye abroad, and see who is it lives in the most magnificent buildings, feasts his palate with the most luxurious dainties, his eyes with the most beautiful sculptures and delicate paintings, and clothes himself in the finest and richest apparel ; and tell me if all these do not fall to his lot who had not any the least share in producing all these con- veniences, nor the least ability so to do ? Why then should the state of a prig* differ from all others ? Or why should you, who are the laborer only, the executor of my scheme, expect a share in the profit ? Be advised, therefore ; deliver the whole booty to me, and trust to my bounty for your reward." Mr. Bagshot was some time silent, and looked like a man thunderstruck, but at last, recovering himself from his surprise, he thus began : "If you think, Mr. Wild, by the force of your arguments, to get the money out of my pocket, you are greatly mis- taken. What is all this stuff to me ? D — n me, I am a man of honor, and, though I can't talk as well as you, by G you shall not make a fool of me ; and if you take me for one, I must tell you you are a rascal." At which words he laid his hand to his pistol. Wild, perceiving the little success the great strength of his arguments had met with, and the hasty temper of his friend, gave-over his design for the present, and told Bagshot he was only in jest. But this coolness with which he treated the „, » A thief. W— .^ 38 JONATHAN WILD. other's flame had rather the effect of oil than of water. Bagshot replied in a rage, "D — ^n me, I don't like such jests; I see you are a pitiful rascal and a scoundrel." Wild, with a philosophy worthy of great admiration, re- turned, " As for your abuse, I have no regard to it ; but, to convince you I am not afraid of you, let us lay the whole booty on the table, and let the conqueror take it all." And having so said, he drew out his shining hanger, whose glittering so dazzled the eyes of Bagshot, that, in tone entirely altered, he said, "No ! he was con- tented with what he had already ; that it was mighty ridiculous in them to quarrel among themselves ; that they had common enemies enough abroad, against whom they should unite their common force ; that if he had mis- taken Wild he was sorry for it ; and as for a jest, he could take a jest as well as another." Wild, who had a wonderful knack of discovering and applying to the pas- sions of men, beginning now to have a little insight into his friend, and to conceive what arguments would make the quickest impression on him, cried out in a loud voice, " That he had bullied him into drawing his hanger, and, since it was out, he would not put it up without satisfac- tion." — " What satisfaction would you have ?" answered the other. — "Your money or your blood," said Wild. — "Why, look ye, Mr. Wild," said Bagshot, "if you want to borrow a little of my part, since I know you to be a man of honor, I don't care if I lend you ; for, though I am not afraid of any man living, yet rather than break with with a friend, and as it may be necessary for your occa- sions " Wild, who often declared that he looked upon borrowing to be as good a way of taking as any, and, as he called it, the genteelest kind of sneaking-budge, putting up his hanger, and shaking his friend by the hand, told him he had hit the nail on the head ; it was really his present necessity only that prevailed with him against his will, for that his honor was concerned to pay a con- siderable sum the next morning. Upon which, contenting JONATHAN WILD. 29 timself with one half of Bagshot's share, so that he had three parts in four of the whole, he took leave of his com- panion and retired to rest. CHAPTER IX. Wild pays a visit to Miss Loetitia Snap. A description of that lovely young creature, and the successless issue of Mr. Wild's addresses. The next morning when our hero waked he began to think of paying a visit to Miss Tishy Snap, a woman of great merit and of as great generosity ; yet Mr. Wild found a present was ever most welcome to her, as being a token of respect in her lover. He therefore went directly to a toy-shop, and there purchased a genteel snuff-box, with which he waited upon his mistress, whom he found in the most beautiful undress. Her lovely hair hung wantonly over her forehead, being neither white with, nor yet free from, powder ; a neat double clout, which seemed to have been worn a few weeks only, was pinned under her chin ; some remains of that art with which ladies improve nature shone on her cheeks ; her body was loosely attired, without stays or jumps, so that her breasts had uncontrolled liberty to display their beauteous orbs, which they did as low as her girdle ; a thin cover- ing of a rumpled muslin handkerchief almost hid them from the eyes, save in a few parts, where a good-natured hole gave opportunity to the naked breast to appear. Her gown was a satin of a whitish color, with about a dozen little silver spots upon it, so artificially interwoven at great distance, that they looked as if they had fallen there by chance. This, flying open, discovered a fine yellow petticoat, beautifully edged round the bottom with a narrow piece of half gold lace, which was now almost become fringe ; beneath this appeared another petticoat 30 JONATHAN WILD. stiffened with whalebone, vulgarly called a hoop, which hung' six inches at least below the other ; and under this again appeared an undergarment of that color which Ovid intends when he says, Qui color albus erat nunc est contrarius albo. She likewise displayed two pretty feet covered with sillc and adorned with lace, and tied, the right with a hand- some piece of blue ribbon ; the left, as more unworthy, with a piece of yellow stuff, which seemed to have been a strip of her upper petticoat. Such was the lovely creature whom Mr. Wild attended. She received him at first with some of that coldness which women of strict virtue, by a commendable though sometimes painful restraint, enjoin themselves to their lovers. The snuff- box, being produced, was at first civilly, and indeed gently refused ; but on a second application accepted. The tea-table was soon called for, at which a discourse passed between these young lovers, which, could we set it down with any accuracy, would be very edifying as well as entertaining to our reader; let it suffice then that, the wit, together with the beauty, of this young creature so inflamed the passion of Wild, which, though an honorable sort of a passion, was at the same time so extremely violent, that it trans- ported him to freedoms too offensive to the nice chastity of Lsetitia, who was, to confess the truth, more indebted to her own strength for the preservation of her virtue than to the awful respect or backwardness of her lover ; he was indeed so very urgent in his addresses, that, had he not with many oaths promised her marriage, we could scarce have been strictly justified in calling his passion honorable ; but he was so remarkably attached to decency, that he never offered any violence to a young lady without the most earnest promises of that kind, these being, he said, a ceremonial due to female modesty, which cost so little, and were so easily pronounced, that the omission could arise from nothing but the mere wanton- JONATHAN WILD. 31 ness of brutality. The lovely Lffititia, either out of pru- dence, or perhaps religion, of which she was a liberal professor, was deaf to all his promises, and luckily invinc- ible to his force ; for, though she had not yet learned the art of well clenching her fist, nature had not however left her defenseless, for at the ends of her fingers she wore arms, which she used with such admirable dexterity, that the hot blood of Mr. Wild soon began to appear in several little spots on his face, and his full-blown cheeks to resemble that part which modesty forbids a boy to turn up anywhere but in a public school, after some pedagogue, strong of arm, hath exercised his talents thereon. Wild now retreated from the conflict, and the victorious Laetitia, with becoming triumph and noble spirit cried out, " D — n your eyes, if this be your way of showing your love, I'll warrant I gives you enough on't." She then proceeded to talk of her virtue, which Wild bid her carry to the devil with her, and thus our lovers parted. CHAPTER X. A discovery of some matters concerning the chaste Lcetitia which must wonderfully surprise, and perhaps affect our reader. Me. Wild was no sooner departed than the fair con- queress, opening the door of a closet, called forth a young gentleman whom she had there enclosed at the approach of the other. The name of this gallant was Tom Smirk, He was clerk to an attornej'^, and was indeed the greatest beau and the greatest favorite of the ladies at the end of the town where he lived. As we take dress to be the characteristic or efllcient quality of a beau, we shall, in- stead of giving any character of this young gentleman, content ourselves with describing his dress only to our ):eaders. He wore, then, a pair of white stockings on his 33 JONATHAN WILD. legs, and pumps on his feet ; his buckles were a large piece of pinchbeck plate, which almost covered his whole foot. His breeches were of red plush, which hardly reached his knees; his waistcoat was a white dimity, richly embroidered with yellow silk, over which he wore a blue plush coat with metal buttons, a smart sleeve, with a cape reaching half-way down his back. His wig was of a brown color, covering almost half his pate, on which was hung on one side a little laced hat, but cocked with great smartness. Such was the accomplished Smirk, who, at his issuing forth from the closet, was received with open arms by the amiable Lsetitia. She addressed him by the tender name of dear Tommy, and told him she had dismissed the odious creature whom her father in- tended for her husband, and had now nothing to inter- rupt her happiness with him. Here, reader, thou must pardon us if we stop a while to lament the capriciousness of Nature in forming this charming part of the creation designed to complete the happiness of man ; with their soft innocence to allay his ferocity, with their sprightliness to soothe his cares, and with their constant friendship to relieve all the troubles and disappointments which can happen to him. Seeing then that these are the blessings chiefly sought after and generally found in every wife, how must we lament that disposition in these lovely creatures which leads them to prefer in their favor those individuals of the other sex who do not seem intended by nature as so great a mas- terpiece ! For surely, however useful they may be in the creation, as we are taught that nothing, not even a louse, is made in vain, yet these beaux, even that most splendid and honored part which in this our island nature loves to distinguish in red, are not, as some think, the noblest work of the Creator. For my own part, let any man choose to himself two beaux, let them be captains or colo- nels, as well-dressed men as ever lived, I would venture to oppose a single Sir Isaac Newton, a Shakespeare, a Mil- JONATHAN WILD. 33 ton, or perhaps some few others, to both, these beaux ; nay, and I very much doubt whether it had not been bet- ter for the world in general that neither of these beaux had ever been born than that it should have wanted the benefit arising to it from the labor of any one of those persons. If this be true, how melancholy must be the considera- tion that any single beau, especially if he have but half a yard of ribbon in his hat, shall weigh heavier in the scale of female affection than twenty Sir Isaac Newtons ! How must our reader, who perhaps has wisely accounted for the resistance which the chaste Laetitia had made to the violent addresses of the ravished (or rather ravishing) Wild from that lady's impregnable virtue — how must he blush, I say, to perceive her quit the strictness of her car- riage, and abandon herself to those loose freedoms which she indulged to Smirk ! But alas ! when we discover all, as to preserve the fidelity of our history we must, when we relate that every famUiarity had passed between them, and that the fair Laetitia (for we must, in this sin- gle instance, imitate Virgil when he drops the pius and the pater, and drop our favorite epithet of chaste), the FAiK Laetitia had, I say, made Smirk as happy as Wild desired to be, what must then be our reader's confusion ! We will, therefore, draw a curtain over this scene, from that philogyny which is in us, and proceed to matters which, instead of dishonoring the human species, will . greatly raise and ennoble it. CHAPTER XL Containing as notable instances of huTtian greatness as are to be met with in ancient or modern history. Concluding with some wholesome hints to the gay part of mankind. WiU) no sooner parted from the chaste Laetitia than, recollecting that his friend the count was returned to his iodgings in the same house, he I'esolved to visit him ; for 34 JONATHAN WILD. he was none of those half-bred fellows who are ashamed to see their friends when they have plundered and betrayed them; from which base and pitiful temper many naonstrous cruelties have been transacted by men, who have sometimes carried their modesty so far as to the murder or utter ruin of those against whom their con- sciences have suggested to them that they have com- mitted some small trespass, either by the debauching of a friend's wife or daughter, belying or betraying the friend himself, or some other such trifling instance. In our hero there was nothing not truly great ; he could, withoutthe least abashment, drink a bottle with the man who knew he had the moment before picked his pocket ; and, when he had stripped him of everything he had, never desired to do him any further mischief ; for he carried good- nature to that wonderful and uncommon height that he never did a single injury to man or woman by which he himself did not expect to reap some advantage. He would often indeed say that by the contrary party men often made a bad bargain with the devil, and did his work for nothing. Our hero found the captive count, not basely lamenting his fate nor abandoning himself to despair, but, with due resignation, employing himself in preparing several packs of cards for future exploits. The count, little suspecting that Wild had been the sole contriver of the misfortune which had befallen him, rose up and eagerly embraced him ; and Wild returned his embrace with equal warmth. They were no sooner seated than Wild took an occasion, from seeing the cards lying on the table, to inveigh against gaming, and, with an usual and highly commend- able freedom, after first exaggerating the distressed cir- cumstances in which the count was then involved, im- puted all his misfortunes to that cursed itch of play which, he said, he concluded had brought his present confinement upon him, and must unavoidably end in his destruction. The other, with great alacrity, defended JONATHAN WILD. 35 Ms favorite amusement (or rather employment), and, having told his friend the great success he had after his unluckily quitting the room, acquainted him with the acci- dent which followed, and which the reader, as well as Mr. Wild, hath had some intimation of before; adding, however, one circumstance not hitherto mentioned, viz.r that he had defended his money with the utmost bravery, and had dangerously wounded at least two of the three men that had attacked him. This behavior Wild, who not only knew the extreme readiness with which the booty had been delivered, but also the constant frigidity of the count's courage, highly applauded, and wished he had been present to assist him. The count then pro- ceeded to animadvert on the carelessness of the watch, and the scandal it was to the laws that honest people could not walk the streets in safety ; and, after expatiat- ing some time on that subject, he asked Mr. Wild if he ever saw so prodigious a run of luck (for so he chose to call his winning, though he knew Wild was well acquainted with his having loaded dice in his pocket). The other answered it was indeed prodigious, and almost suflBcient to justify any person who did not know him better in suspecting his fair play. " No man, I beUeve, dares call that in question," replied he. "No, surely," says Wild ; " you are well known to be a man of more honor; but pray sir," continued he, "did the rascals rob you of all ?" " Every shilling," cries the other, with an oath ; " they did not leave me a single stake." While they were thus discoursing, Mr. Snap, with a gentleman who followed him, introduced Mr. Bagshot into the company. It seems Mr. Bagshot, immediately after his separation from Mr. Wild, returned to the gam- ing-table, where, having trusted to fortune that treasure which he had procured by his industry, the faithless god- dess committed a breach of trust, and sent Mr. Bagshot away with as empty pockets as are to be found in any laced coat in the kingdom. Now, as that gentlenaao was 36 JONATHAN WILD. walking to a certain reputable house or shed in Covent- g-arden market he fortuned to meet with Mr, Snap, who had just returned from conveying the count to his lodg- ings, and was then walking to and fro before the gaming- house door ; for you are to know, my good reader, if you have never been a man of wit and pleasure about town, that as the voracious pike lieth snug under some weed before the mouth of any of those little streams which dis- charge themselves into a large river, waiting for the small fry which issue thereout, so hourly, before the door or mouth of these gaming-houses, doth Mr. Snap, or some other gentleman of his occupation, attend the issuing forth of the small fry of young gentlemen, to whom they deliver little slips of parchment, containing invitations of the said gentlemen to their houses, together with one Mr. John Doe,* a person whose company is in great request. Mr. Snap, among many others of these billets happened to have one directed to Mr. Bagshot, being at the suit or solicitation of one Mrs. Anne Sample, spinster, at whose house the said Bagshot had lodged several months, and whence he had inadvertently departed without taking a formal leave, on which account Mrs. Anne had taken this method of speaking with him Mr. Snap's house being now very full of good company, he was obliged to introduce Mr. Bagshot into the count's apartment, it being, as he said, the only chamber he had to lock up in. Mr. Wild no sooner saw his friend than he ran eagerly to embrace him, and immediately presented him to the count, who received him with great civility. * This IB a fictitious name which is put into every writ; for what purpose the lawyers best know. JONATHAN WILD. CHAPTER XII. Further particulars relating to Miss Tishy, which perhaps may not greatly surprise after the former. The description of a very fine gentleman, and a dialogue between Wild and the count, in which public virtueisjust hinted at, with, etc. Mr. Snap had turned the key a very few minutes before a servant of the family called Mr. Bagshot out of the room, telling him there was a person below who desired to speak with him ; and this was no other than Miss Lsetitia Snap, whose admirer Mr. Bagshot had long been, and in whose tender breast his passion had raised a more ardent flame than that which any of his rivals had been able to raise. Indeed, she was so extremely fond of this youth that she often confessed to her female confidants, if she could ever have listened to the thought of living with any one man, Mr. Bagshot was he. Nor was she singu- lar in this inclination, many other young ladies being her rivals in this lover, who had all the great and noble quali- fications necessary to form a true gallant, and which na- ture is seldom so extremely bountiful as to indulge to any one person. We will endeavor, however, to describe them all with as much exactness as possible. He was then six feet high, had large calves, broad shoulders, a ruddy complexion, with brown curled hair, a modest assurance, and clean linen. He had indeed, it must be confessed, some small deficiencies to counterbalance these heroic qualities, for he was the silliest fellow in the world, could neither write nor read, nor had he a single grain or spark of honor, honesty, or good-nature in his whole composi- tion. As soon as Mr. Bagshot had quitted the room, the count, taking Wild by the hand, told him he had some- thing to communicate to him of very great importance. 38 JONATHAN WILD. "I am very well convinced," said lie, "that Bagsliot is the person who robbed nae." Wild started with great amazement at this discovery, and answered, with a most serious countenance, " I advise you to take care how you cast any such reflections on a man of Mr. Bagshot's nice honor, for I am certain he will not bear it." " D — n his honor ! " quoth the enraged count ; " nor can I bear being robbed; Iwillapply to a justice of peace." Wild replied with great indignation, " Since you dare entertain such a suspicion against my friend I will henceforth disclaim all acquaintance with you. Mr. Bagshot is a man of honor and my friend, and consequently it is impossible he should be guilty of a bad action." He added much more to the same purpose, which had not the expected weight with the count ; for the latter seemed still certain as to the person, and resolute in applying for justice, which, he said, he thought he owed to the public as well as to him- self. Wild then changed his countenance into a kind of derision, and spoke as follows : ' ' Suppose it should be pos- sible that Mr. Bagshot had, in a frolic (for I will call it no other), taken this method of borrowing your money, what will you get by prosecuting him ? Not your money again, for you hear he was stripped at the gaming- table" (of which Bagshot had during their short confab- ulation informed them) | you will get then an opportunity of being still more out of pocket by the prosecution. An- other advantage you may promise yourself is the being blown up at every gaming-house in town, for that I will assure you of; and then much good may it do you to sit down with the satisfaction of having discharged what it seems you owe the public. I am ashamed of my own dis- cernment when I mistook you for a great man. Would it not be better for you to receive part (perhaps all) of your money again by a wise concealment? for, however seedy* Mr. Bagshot may be now, if he hath really played this frolic with you, you may believe he will play it with * Poor. JONATHAN WILD. 39 others, and when he is in cash yon may depend on a restoration; the law will be always in your power, and that is the last remedy which a brave or a wise man would resort to. Leave the affair therefore to me ; I will examine Bagshot, and, if I find he hath played you this trick, I will engage my own honor you shall in the end be no loser." The count answered, " If I was sure to be no loser, Mr. Wild, I apprehend you have a better opin- ion of my understanding than to imagine I would prose- cute a gentleman for the sake of the public. These are foolish words, of course, which we learn a ridiculous habit of speaking, and will often break from us without any design or meaning. I assure you, all I desire is a reimbursement ; and if I can by your means obtain that, the public may ; " concluding with a phrase too coarse to be inserted in a history of this kind. They were now informed that dinner was ready, and "the company assembled below stairs, whither the reader may, if he please, attend these gentlemen. There sat down at the table Mr. Snap and the two Miss Snaps, his daughters, Mr. Wild the elder, Mr. Wild the younger, the count, Mr. Bagshot, and a grave gentleman who had formerly had the honor of carrying arms in a regiment of foot, and who was now engaged in the office (perhaps a more profitpible one) of assisting or fol- lowing Mr. Snap in the execution of the laws of his coun- try. Nothing very remarkable passed at dinner. The con- versation (as is usual in polite company) rolled chiefly on what they were then eating and what they had lately eaten. In this the miUtary gentleman, who had served in Ireland, gave them a very particular accoimt of a new manner of roasting potatoes, and others gave an account of other dishes. In short, an indifferent bystander would have concluded from their discourse that they had all come into this world for no other purpose than to fill their bellies; and indeed, if this was not the chief, it is probable 40 JONATHAN WILD, it was the most innocent design Nature liad in their formation. As soon as the dish was removed, and the ladies re- tired, the count proposed a game at hazard, which waa immediately assented to by the whole company, and, the dice being immediately brought in, the count took up the box and demanded who would set him ; to which no one made any answer, imagining perhaps the count's pockets to be more empty than they were ; for, in reality, that gentleman (notwithstanding what he had heartily swore to Mr. Wild) had, since his arrival at Mr. Snap's, con- ■ veyed a piece of plate to pawn, by which means he had furnished himself with ten guineas. The count, there- fore,perceiving this backwardness in his friends, and prob- ably somewhat guessing at the cause of it, took the said guineas out of his pocket, and threw them on the table ; when lo ! (such is the force of example) aU the rest began to produce their funds, and immediately, a considerable sum glittering in their eyes, the game began. CHAPTER XIII. A chapter of which we are extremely vain, and which indeed we look on as our chef-d'ceuvre ; containing a wonderful story concerning the devil, and as nice a scene of honor as ever happened. My reader, I believe, even if he be a gamester, would not thank me for an exact relation of every man's success ; let it sulH.ce then that they played tUl the whole money vanished from the table. Whether the devil himself car- ried it away, as some suspected, I ynQ. not determine ; but very surprising it was that every person protested he had lost, nor could anyone guess who, unless the devil, had won. But though very probable it is that this arch fiend had some share in the booty, it is likely he had not all ; Mr. JONATHAN WILD. 41 Bagshot being imagined to be a considerable winner, not- withstanding his assertions to the contrary ; for he was seen by several to convey money often into his pocket ; and what is still a little stronger presumption is, that the grave gentleman whom we have mentioned to have served his country in two honorable capacities, not being willing to trust alone to the evidence of his eyes, had frequently dived into the said Bagshot's pocket, whence (as he tells us in the apology for his life, afterwards published)* though he might extract a few pieces, he was very sensi- ble he had left many behind. The gentleman had long indulged his curiosity in this way before Mr. Bagshot, in the heat of gaming, had perceived him ; but, as Bagshot was now leaving off play, he discovered this ingenious feat of dexterity ; upon which, leaping up from his chair in violent passion, he cried out, " I thought I had been among gentlemen and men of honor, but d — n me, I find we have a pickpocket in company." The scandalous sound of this word extremely alarmed the whole board, nor did they all show less surprise than the Con n (whose not sitting of late is much lamented) would ex- press at hearing there was an atheist in the room ; but it more particularly affected the gentleman at whom it was levelled, though it was not addressed to him. He like- wise started from his chair, and, with a fierce countenance and accent, said, " Do you mean me ? D — n your eyes, you are a rascal and a scoundrel ! ",i Those words would have been immediately succeeded by blows had not the company interposed, and with strong arm withheld the two antagonists from each other. It was, however, a long time before thej"^ could be prevailed on to sit down ; which being at last happily brought about, Mr. Wild, the elder, who was a well-disposed old man, advised them to shake hands and be friends ; but the gentleman who had * Not in a book by itself, in imitation of some other such persons, but in tne or- dinary^s account, etc. where all the apologies for the lives of rogues and whores which have been published within these twenty years should have been inserted. 42 JONATHAN WILD. received the first affront absolutely refused it, and swore he would have the villain- s blood. Mr. Snap highly ap- plauded the resolution, and affirmed that the affront was by no means to be put up by any who bore the name of a gentleman, and that unless his friend resented it properly he would never execute another warrant in his company ; that he had always looked upon him as a man of honor, and doubted not but he would prove himself so ; and that, if it was his own case, nothing should persuade him to put up such an affront without proper satisfaction. The count likewise spoke on the same side, and the parties themselves muttered several short sentences purporting their intentions. At last Mr. Wild, our hero, rising slow- ly from his seat, and having fixed the attention of all present, began as follows : " I have heard with infinite pleasure everything which the two gentlemen who spoke last have said with relation to honor, nor can any man possibly entertain a higher and nobler sense of that word, nor a greater esteem of its inestimable value than myself. If we have no name to express it by in our Cant Diction- ary, it were well to be wished we had. It is indeed the essential quality of a gentleman, and which no man who ever was great in the field or on the road (as others ex- press it) can possibly be without. But alas ! gentlemen, what pity is it that a word of such sovereign use and vir- tue should have so uncertain and various an application that scarce two people mean the same thing by it. Do not some by honor mean good-nature and humanity, which weak minds call virtues ? How then ! Must we deny it to the great, the brave, the noble ; to the sackers of towns, the plunderers of provinces, and the conquerors of kingdoms ? Were not these men of honor ? and yet they scorn those pitiful qualities I have mentioned. Again, some few (or I mistake) include the idea of honesty in their honor. And shall we then say that no man who withholds from another what law, or justice perhaps, calls his own, or who greatly and boldly deprives him of JONATHAN WILD. 43 such property, is a man of honor ? Heaven forbid I should say so in this, or, indeed, in any other good company ! Is honor truth ? No ; it is not in the lies going from us, but in its coming to us, our honor is injured. Doth it then consist in what the vulgar call cardinal virtues ? It would be an affront to your understandings to suppose it, since we see every day so many men of honor without any. In what then doth the word honor consist ? Why, in itself alone. A man of honor is he that is called a man of honer ; and while he is so called he so remains, and no longer. Think not anything a man commits can forfeit his honor. Look abroad into the world ; the prig, while he flourishes, is a man of honor ; when in jail, at the bar, or the tree, he is so no longer. And why is this distinc- tion ? Not from his actions ; for those are often as well known in his flourishing estate as they are afterwards ; but because men, I mean those of his own party or gang, call him a man of honor in the former, and cease to call him so in the latter condition. Let us see then ; how hath Mr. Bagshot injured the gentleman's honor ? Why, he hath called him a pickpocket ; and that, probably, by a severe construction and a long roundabout way of reason- ing, may seem a little to derogate from his honor, if con- sidered in a very nice sense. Admitting it, therefore, for argument's sake, to be some small imputation on his hon- or, let Mr. Bagshot give him satisfaction ; let him doubly and triply repair this oblique injury by directly asserting that he believes he is a man of honor." The gentleman answered he was content to refer it to Mr. Wild, and whatever satisfaction he thought sufficient he would ac- cept. " Let him give me my money again first," said Bagshot, " and then I will call him a man of honor with all my heart." The gentleman then protested he had not any, which ^nap seconded, declaring he had his eyes on him all the while ; but Bagshot remained still unsatisfied, till Wild, rapping out a hearty oath, swore he had not taken a single farthing, adding that whoever asserted the W— 4 44 JONATHAN WILD. contrary gave hini tlie lie, and lie "would resent it. And now, such, "was the ascendancy of this great man, that Bagshot immediately acquiesced, and performed the ceremonies required ; and thus, by the exquisite address of our hero, this quarrel, "which had so fatal an aspect, and which between two persons so extremely jealous ol their honor would most certainly have produced very dreadful consequences, was happily concluded. Mr. Wild was indeed a little interested in this affair, as he himself had set the gentleman to work, and had received the greatest part of the booty; and as to Mr- Snap's deposition in his favor, it was the usual height to which the ardor of that worthy person's friendship too frequently hurried him. It was his constant maxim that he was a pitiful fellow who would stick at a little rapping* for his friend. CHAPTER XIV. In which the history of gbbatness is continued. Matters being thus reconciled, and the gaming over, from reasons before hinted, the company proceeded to drink about with the utmost cheerfulness and friendship; drinking healths, shaking hands, and professing the most perfect affection for each other. All which were not in the least interrupted by some designs which they then agitated in their minds, and which they intended to exe- cute as soon as the liquor had prevailed over some of their understandings, Bagshot and the gentlemen intending to rob each other ; Mr. Snap and Mr. Wild the elder medi- tating what other creditors they could find put to charge the gentlemen then in custody with ; the count hoping to renew the play, and Wild, our hero, laying a design to put Bagshot out of the way, or, as the vulgar express it, ^Rapping ]s a cant word for perjury JONATHAN WILD. 45 to hang him with the first opportunity. But none of these great designs could at present be put in execution, for Mr. Snap being soon after summoned abroad on busi- ness of great moment, which required likewise the assist- ance of Mr. Wild the elder and his other friend, and as he did not care to trust to the nimbleness of the count's heels, of which he had already had some experience, he declared he must lock up for that evening. Here, reader, if thou pleasest, as we are in no great haste, we will stop and make a simile. As when their lap is finished, the cautious huntsman to their kennel gathers the nimble- footed hounds, they with lank ears and tails slouch sul- lenly on, whilst he, with his whippers-in, follow close to their heels, regardless of their dogged humor, till, having seen them safe within the door, he turns the key, and then retires to whatever business or pleasure calls him thence; so with lowering countenance and reluctant steps mounted the count and Bagshot to their chamber, or rather kennel, whither they were attended by Snap and those who followed him, and where Snap, having seen them deposited, very contentedly locked the door and departed. And now, reader, we will, in imitation of the truly laudable custom of the world, leave these our good friends to deliver themselves as they can, and pursue the thriving fortunes of Wild, our hero, who, with that great aversion to satisfaction and content which is inseparably incident to great minds, began to enlarge his views with his prosperity; for this restless, amiable disposition, this noble avidity which increases with feeding, is the first principle or constituent quality of these our great men ; to whom, in their passage on to greatness, it happens as to a traveler over the Alps, or, if this be a too far- fetched simile, to one who travels westward over the hills near Bath, where the simile was indeed made. He sees not the end of his journey at once ; but, passing on from scheme to scheme, and from hill to hill, with noble constancy, resolving still to attain the summit on which he hath fixed his eye, how- 46 JONATHAN WILD. ever dirty tlie roads may be through which he struggles, he at length arrives at some vile inn, where he finds no kind of entertainment nor conveniency for repose. I fancy, reader, if thou hast ever traveled in these roads, one part of my simile is sufficiently apparent (and, indeed, in all these illustrations, one side is generally much more apparent than the other) ; but, believe me, if the other doth not so evidently appear to thy satisfaction, it is from no other reason than because thou art unacquainted with these great men, and hast not had sufficient instruction, leisure, or opportunity, to consider what happens to those who pursue what is generally understood by greatness ; for surely, if thou hadst animadverted, not only on the many perils to which great men are daily liable while they are in their progress, but hadst discerned, as it were through a microscope (for it is invisible to the naked eye), that diminutive speck of happiness which they attain even in the consummation of their wishes, thou wouldst lament with me the unhappy fate of these great men, on whom nature hath set so superior a mark, that the rest of man- kind are born for their use and emolument only and be apt to cry out, " It is a pity that those for whose pleas- ure and profit mankind are to labor and sweat, to be hacked and hewed, to be pillaged, plundered, and every way destroyed, should reap so little advantage from all the miseries they occasion to others." For my part, I own myself of that humble kind of mortals who consider themselves born for the behoof of some great man or other, and could I behold his happiness carved out of the labor and ruin of a thousand such reptiles as myself, I might with satisfaction exclaim, Sic, sicjuvat: but when I behold one great man starving with hunger and freez- ing with cold, in the midst of fifty thousand who are suf- fering the same evils for his diversion; when I see another, whose own mind is a more abject slave to his own greatness, and is more tortured and racked by it than those of all his vassals j lastly, when I consider whole JONATHAN WILD. 47 nations rooted out only to bring tears into the eyes of a great man, not, indeed, because he hath ex- tirpated so many, but because he had no more nations to extirpate, then truly I am almost inclined to wish that nature had spared us this her masterpiece, and that no great man had ever been born into the world. But to proceed with our history, which will, we hope, produce much better lessons, and more instructive, than any we can preach. Wild was no sooner retired to a night-cellar than he began to reflect on the sweets he had that day enjoyed from the labors of others, viz., first from Mr. Bagshot, who had for his use robbed the count; aiui, secondly, from the gentleman, who, for the same good purpose, had picked the pocket of Bagshot. He then proceeded to reason thus with himself " The art of policy is the art of multiplication, the degrees of great- ness being constituted by those two little words more and less. Mankind are first properly to be considered under two grand divisions, those that use their own hands, and those who employ the hands of others. The former are the base and rabble; the latter, the genteel part of the creation. The mercantile part of the world, therefore, wisely use the term employing hands, and justly prefer each other as they employ more or fewer: for thus one merchant says he is greater than another because he employs more hands. And now indeed the merchant should seem to challenge some character of greatness, did we not necessarily come to a second division^ viz. of those who employ hands for the use of the community in which they live, and of those who employ hands merely for their own use, without any regard to the benefit of society. Of the former sort are the yeoman, the manu- facturer, the merchant, and perhaps the gentleman. The first of these being to manure and cultivate his native soil, and to employ hands to produce the fruits of the earth. The second being to improve them by employing hands « 48 JONATHAN WILD. likewise, and to produce from them tliose useful com- modities which serve as well for the conveniences as necessaries of life. The third is to employ hands for the exportation of the redundance of oUr own commodities, and to exchange them with the redundances of foreign nations, and thus every soil and every climate may en- joy the fruits of the whole earth. The gentleman is, by employing hands, likewise to eaibellish his country with the improvement of arts and sciences, with the making and executing good and wholesome laws for the preserva- tion of property and the distribution of justice, and in several other manners to be useful to society. Now we come to the second part of this division; viz. of those who employ hands for their own use only: and this is that noble and great part who are generally distinguished into conquerors, absolute princes, statesmen,, and prigs Now all these differ from each other in greatness only — they employ more or fewer hands. • And Alexander the Great was only greater than a captain of one of the Tar- tarian or Arabian hordes, as he was at the head of a larger number. In what then is a single prig inferior to any other great man, but because he employs his hands only; for he is not on that account to be levelled with the base and vulgar, because he employs his hands for his own use only. Now, suppose a prig had as many tools as any prime minister ever had, would he not be as great as any prime minister whatsoever ? Un- doubtedly he would. What then have I to do in the pur- suit ot greatness but to procure a gang, and to make the use of this gang centre in myself ? This gang shall rob forme only, receiving very moderate rewards for their actions; out of this gang I will prefer to my favor the boldest and most iniquitous (as the vulgar express it); the rest I will, from time to time, as I see occasion, trans- port and hang at my pleasure; and thus (which I take to be the highest excellence of aprig) convert those laws • Thieveu. JONATHAN WILD. 49 which are made for the henefit and protection of society to my single use." Having thus preconceived his scheme, he saw nothing wanting to put it in immediate execution but that which is mdeed the beginnmg as well as the end of all human devices: I mean money. Of which commodity he was possessed of no more than sixty-five guineas, being all that remained from the double benefits he had made of Bagshot, and which did not seem sufficient to furnish his house, and every other convenience necessary for so grand an undertaking. He resolved, therefore, to go immedi- to the gaming house, which was then sitting, not so much with an intention of trusting to fortune as to play the surer card of attacking the winner in his way home. On his arrival, however, he thought he might as well try his success at the dice, and reserve the other resource as his last expedient. He accordingly sat down to play, and as Fortune, no more than others of her sex, is observed to distribute her favors with strict regard to great mental endowments so our hero lost every farthing in his pocket. This loss however he bore with great constancy of mind, and with as great composure of aspect. To say truth, he considered the money as only lent for a short time, or rather indeed as deposited with a banker. He then re- solved to have immediate recourse to his surer strategem; and, casting his eyes round the room, he soon perceived a gentleman sitting in a disconsolate posture, who seemed a proper instrument or tool for his purpose. In short (to be as concise as possible in these least shining parts of our history), Wild accosted this man, sounded him, found him fit to execute, proposed the matter, received a ready assent, and, having fixed on the person who seemed that evening the greatest favorite of fortune, they posted themselves in the most proper place to surprise the ene- my as he was retiring to his quarters, where he was soon attacked, subdued, and plundered; but indeed of no con- siderable bootyj for it seems this gentleman played on a 50 JONATHAN WILD. common stock, and had deposited his winnings at the scene of action, nor had he any more than two shillings in his pocket when he was attacked. This was so cruel a disappointment to Wild, and so sensihly affects us, as no douht it will the reader, that, as it must disqualify us hoth from proceeding any farther at present, we will now take a little breath, and therefore we shall here close this book. JONATHAN WILD. 51 BOOK II. CHAPTER I. Characters of silly people, with the proper iises for which such are designed. One reason why we chose to end our first book, as we did, with the last chapter, was, that we are now obliged to produce two characters of a stamp entirely different from what we have hitherto dealt in. These persons are of that pitiful order of mortals who are in contempt called good-natured ; being indeed sent into the world by na- ture with the same design with which men put little fish into a pike-pond in order to be devoured by that voracious water-hero. But to proceed with our history: Wild, having shared the booty in much the same manner as before, i. e., taken three-fourths of it, amounting to eighteen- pence, was now retiring to rest, in no very happy mood, when by accident he met with a young fellow who had formerly been his companion, and indeed intimate friend, at school. It hath been thought that friendship is usually nursed by similitude of manners, but the contrary had been the case between these lads ; for whereas Wild was rapacious and intrepid, the other had always more regard for his skin than his money ; Wild therefore had very generously compassionated this defect in his schoolfellow, and had brought him off from many scrapes, into most of which he had first drawn him, by taking the fault and whipping to himself. He had t Iways indeed been well paid on such occasions ; but there are a sort of people who, together 52 JONATHAN WILD. with the best of the bargain, will be sure to have the ob- ligation too on their side ; so it had happened here : for this poor lad had considered himself in the highest degree obliged to Mr. Wild, and had contracted a very great esteena and friendship for him; the traces of which an absence of many years had not in the least effaced in his mind. He no sooner knew Wild, therefore, than he accosted him in the most friendly manner, and invited him home with him to breakfast (it being now near nine in the morning), which invitation our hero. with no great difficulty consented to. This young man, who was about Wild's age, had some time before set up in the trade of a jeweler, in the materials or stock for which he had laid out the greatest part of a little fortune, and had married a very agreeable woman for love, by whom he then had two children. As our reader is to be more acquainted with this person, it may not be improper to open some- what of his character, especially as it will serve as a kind of foil to the noble and great disposition of our hero, and as the one seems sent into this world as a proper object on which the talents of the other were to be displayed with a proper and just success. Mr. Thomas Heartfree then (for that was his name) was of an honest and open disposition. He was of that sort of men whom experience only, and not their own na- tures, must inform that there are such things as deceit and hypocrisy in the world, and who, consequently, are not at five-and-twenty so difficult to be imposed upon as the oldest and most subtle. He was possessed of several great weaknesses of mind, being good-natured, friendly, and generous to a great excess. He had, indeed, too little regard to common justice, for he had forgiven some, debts to his acquaintance only because they could not pay him, and had intrusted a bankrupt, on his setting up a second time, from having been convinced that he had dealt in his bankruptcy with a fair and honest heart, and that he had broke through misfortune only, and not from JONATHAN WILD. 53 neglect or imposture. He was withal so silly a fellow that he never took the least advantage of the ignorance of his customers ? and contented himself with very moder- ate gains on his goods ; which he was the better enabled to do, notwithstanding his generosity, because his life was extremely temperate, his expenses being solely con- fined to the cheerful entertainment of his friends at home, and now and then a moderate glass of wine, in which he indulged himself in the company of his wife, who, with an agreeable person, was a mean-spirited, poor, domestic, low-bred animal, who confined herself mostly to the care of her family, placed her happiness in her husband and her children, followed no expensive fashions or diversions, and indeed rarely went abroad, unless to return the visits of a few plain neighbors, and twice a year afforded her- self, in company with her husband, t|ie diversion of a play, where she never sat in a higher place than the pit. To this silly woman did this silly fellow introduce the Great Wild, informing her at the same time of their school acquaintance and the many obligations he had re- ceived from him. This simple woman no sooner heard her husband had been obliged to her guest than her eyes sparkled on him with a benevolence which is an emanation from the heart, and of which great and noble minds, whose hearts never swell but with an injury, can have no very adequate idea ; it is therefore no wonder that our hero should misconstrue, as he did, the poor, innocent, and simple affection of Mrs. Heartfree towards her hus- band's friend for that great and generous passion which fires the eyes of a modern heroine when the colonel is so kind as to indulge his city creditor with partaking of his table to-day and of his bed to-morrow. Wild, therefore, instantly returned the compliment as he understood it, with his eyes, and presently after bestowed many enco- miums on her beauty, with which, perhaps, she, who was a woman, though a good one, and misapprehended the design, was not displeased &nj more than the husband. 54 JONATHAN WILD. "When breakfast was ended, and the wife retired to her household affairs. Wild, who had a quick discernment into the weaknesses of men, and who, besides the knowl- edge of his good (or foolish) disposition when a boy, had now discovered several sparks of goodness, friendship, and generosity in his friend, began to discourse over the accidents which had happened in their childhood, and took frequent occasions of reminding him of those favors which we have before mentioned his having conferred on him ; he then proceeded to the most vehement profes- sions of friendship, and to the most ardent expressions of joy in this renewal of their acquaintance. He at last told him, with great seeming pleasure, that he believed he had an opportunity of serving him by the recommendation of a gentleman to his custom, who was then on the brink of marriage. " And, if he be not already engaged, I will," says he, " endeavor to prevail on him to furnish his lady with jewels at your shop." Heartfree was not backward in thanks to our hero, and, after many earnest solicitations to dinner, which were refused, they parted for the first time. But here, as it occurs to our memory that our readers may be surprised (an accident which sometimes happens in histories of this kind) how Mr. Wild the elder, in his present capacity, should have been able to maintain his son at a reputable school, as this, appears to have been, it may be necessary to inform him that Mr. Wild himself was then a tradesman in good business, but, by misfor- tunes in the world, to wit, extravagance and gaming, he had reduced himself to that honorable occupation which we have formerly mentioned. Having cleared up this doubt, we will now pursue our hero, who forthwith repaired to the count, and, having first settled preliminary articles concerning distributions, be acquainted him with the scheme which he had formed against Heartfree ; and after consulting proper methods to put it in execution, they began to concert measures for JONATHAN WILD. 55 the enlargement of the count ; on which the first, and indeed only point to be considered, was to raise money, not to pay his debts, for that would have required an immense sum, and was contrary to his inclination or intention, but to procure him bail ; for as to his escape, Mr. Snap had taken such precautions that it appeared absolutely impossible. CHAPTER II. Oreat examples o/ greatness in Wild, shown as well by his behavior to Bagshot as in a scheme laid, first, to impose on Seartfree by means of the count, and then to cheat the count of the booty. Wild undertook therefore to extract some money from Bagshot, who, notwithstanding the depredations made on him, had carried off a pretty considerable booty^ from their engagement at dice the preceding day. He found Mr. Bagshot in expectation of his bail, and, with a coun- tenance full of concern, which he could at any time, with wonderful art, put on, told him that all was discovered ; that the count knew him, and intended to prosecute him for the robber j-^, "had not I exerted (said he) my utmost interest, and with great difficulty prevailed on him in case you refund the money " — " Refund the money !" cried Bagshot, " that is in your power : for you know what an inconsiderable part of it fell to my share." — " How !" replied Wild, " is this your gratitude to me for saving your life ? For your own conscience must con- vince you of your guilt, and with how much certainty the gentleman can give evidence against you." — "Marry, come up !" quoth Bagshot ; " I believe my life alone will not be in danger. I know those who are as guilty as my- self. Do you tell me of conscience ?" — " Yes, sirrah !" answered our hero, taking him by the collar ; " and since you dare threaten me I will show you the difference be- tween committing a robbery and conniving at it, which is 56 JONATHAN WILD. all I can charge myself witli. I own indeed I suspected, when you showed me a sum of money, that you had not come honestly by it." — "How!" says Bagshot, frightened out of one-half of his wits, and amazed out of the other, "can you deny?" — "Yes, you rascal," an- swered "Wild, " I do deny everything ; and do you find a witness to prove it : and, to show you how little appre- hension I have of your power to hurt me, I will have you apprehended this moment." At which words he offered to break from him ; but Bagshot laid hold of his skirts, and, with an altered tone and manner, begged him not to be so impatient. "Refund then, sirrah," cries Wild, " and perhaps I may take pity on you." — " What must I refund ?" answered Bagshot. — "Every farthing in your pocket," replied Wild ; "then I may have some compas- sion on you, and not only save your life, but, out of an excess of generosity, may return you something." At which words Bagshot seeming to hesitate. Wild pretended to make to the door, and rapt out an oath of vengeance with so violent an emphasis, that his friend no longer presumed to balance, but suffered Wild to search his pockets and draw forth all he found, to the amount of twenty-one guineas and a half, which last piece our gen- erous hero returned him again, telling him he might now sleep secure, but advised him for the future never to threaten his friends. Thus did our hero execute the greatest exploits with the utmost ease imaginable, by means of those transcend- ent qualities which nature had indulged him with, viz. a bold heart, a thundering voice, and a steady countenance. Wild now returned to the count, and informed him that he had got ten guineas of Bagshot : for, with great and commendable prudence, he sunk the other eleven into his own pocket, and told him with that money he would pro- cure him bail, which he after prevailed on his father, and another gentleman of the same occupation, to become, for two guineas each ; so that he made lawful prize of six JONATHAN WILD. 57 more, making Bagshot debtor for the whole ten ; for such were his great abilities, and so vast the compass of his understanding, that he never made any bargain without overreaching (or, m the vulgar phrase, cheating) the per- son with whom he dealt. The count being, by these means, enlarged, the first thing they did, in order to procure credit from trades- men, was the taking a handsome house ready furnished in one of the new streets ; in which as soon as the count was settled, they proceeded to furnish him with servants and equipage, and all the insignia of a large estate proper to impose on poor Heartfree. These being all ob- tained. Wild made a second visit to his friend, and with much joy in his countenance acquainted him that he had succeeded in his endeavors, and that the gentleman had promised to deal with him for the jewels which he in- tended to present his bride, and which were designed to be very splendid and costly ; he therefore appointed him to go to the count the next morning, and carry with him a set of the richest and most beautiful jewels he had, giv- ing him at the same time some hints of the count's ignor- ance of that commodity, and that he might extort what price of him he pleased ; but Heartfree told him, not without some disdain, that he scorned to take any such advantage ; and, after expressing much grati- tude to hisfriend for his recommendation, he promised to carry the jewels at the hour and to the place ap- pointed. I am sensible that the reader, if he hath but the least notion of greatness, must have such a contempt for the extreme folly of this fellow, that he will be very little concerned at any misfortunes which may befall him in the sequel ; for to have no suspicion that an old school- fellow, with whom he had, in his tenderest years, con- tracted a friendship, and who, on the accidental renewing of their acquaintance, had professed the most passionate regard for him, should be very readj' to impose on him ; 58 JONATHAN WILD. in short, to conceive that a friend should, of his own ac- cord, without any view to his own interest, endeavor to do him a service, must argue such weakness of mind, such ignorance of the world, and such an artless, simple, un- designing heart, as must render the person possessed of it the lowest creature and the properest object of con- tempt imaginable in the eyes of every man of understand- ing and discernment. Wild remembered that his friend Heartfree's faults were rather in his heart than in his head ; that, though he was so mean a fellow that he was never capable of laying a design to injure any human creature, yet was he by no means a fool, nor liable to any gross imposition, unless where his heart betrayed him. He therefore in- structed the count to take only one of his jewels at the first interview, and to reject the rest as not fine enough, and order him to provide some richer. He said this man- agement would prevent Heartfree from expecting ready money for the jewel he brought with him, which the count was presently to dispose of, and by means of that money, and his great abilities at cards and dice, to get together as large a sum as possible, which he was to pay down to Heartfree at the delivery of the set of jewels, who would be thus void of all manner of suspicion, and would not fail to give him credit for the residue. By this contrivance, it will appear in the sequel that Wild did not only propose to make the imposition on Heartfree, who was (hitherto) void of all suspicion, more certain ; but to rob the count himself of this sum. This double method of cheating the very tools who are our in- struments to cheat others is the superlative degree of greatness, and is probably, as far as any spirit crusted over with clay can carry it, fallmg very little short of diabolism itself. This method was immediately put in execution, and the count the first day took only a smgle briUiant, worth about three hundred pounds, and ordered a necklace, JONATHAN WILD. 59 earrings, and solitaire, of the value of three thousand more, to be prepared by that day sevennight. This interval was employed by Wild in prosecuting his scheme of raising a gang, in which he met with such suc- cess, that within a few days he had levied several bold and resolute fellows, fit for any enterprise, how danger- ous or great soever. We have before remarked that the truest mark of greatness is insatiability. Wild had covenanted with the count to receive three-fourths of the booty, and had, at the same time, covenanted with himself to secure the other fourth part likewise, for which he had formed a very great and noble design ; but he now saw with concern that sum which was to be received in hand by Heartfree in danger of being absolutely lost. In order therefore to possess himself of that likewise, he contrived that the jew- els should be brought in the afternoon, and that Heart- free should be detained before the count could see him ; so that th« night should overtake him in his return, when two of his gang were ordered to attack and plunder him. CHAPTER III. Containing scenes of softness, love, and honor, all in the great style. The count had disposed of his jewel for its full value, and this he had by dexterity raised to a thousand pounds; this sum therefore he paid down to^ Heartfree, promising him the rest within a month. His house, his equipage, his appearance, but, above aU, a certain plausibility in his voice and behavior, would have deceived any but one whose great and wise heart had dictated to him some- thing within which would have secured him from any danger of imposition from without. Heartfree therefore did not in the least scruple giving him credit; but, as he had in reality procured those jewels of another, his own little stock not being able to furnish anything so valuable, W— s 60 JONATHAN WILD. he begged the count would be so kind to give his note for the money, payable at the time he mentioned ; which that gentleman did not in the least scruple ; so he paid him the thousand pounds in specie, and gave his note for two thousand eight hundred pounds more to Heartfree, who burnt with gratitude to Wild for the noble customer he had recommended to him. As soon as Heartfree was departed, Wild, who waited in another room, came in and received the casket from the count, it having been agreed between them that this should be deposited in his hands^ as he was the original contriver of the scheme, and was to have the largest share. Wild, having received the casket, offered to meet the count late that evening to come to a division, but such was the latter's confidence in the honor of our hero, that he said, if it was any inconvenience to him, the next morn- ing would do altogether as well. This was more agree- able to Wild, and accordingly, an appointment being made for that purpose, he set out in haste to pursue Heartfree to the place where the two gentlemen were ordered to meet and attack him. Those gentlemen with noble resolution executed their purpose; they attacked and spoiled the enemy of the whole sum he had received from the count. As soon as the engagement was over, and Heartfree left sprawling on the ground, our hero, who wisely de- clined trusting the booty in his friends' hands, though he had good experience of their honor, made off after the conquerors : at length, they being all at a place of safety. Wild, according to a previous agreement, received nine- tenths of the booty : the subordinate heroes did indeed profess some little unwillingness (perhaps more than was strictly consistent with honor) to perform their contract ; but Wild, partly by argument, but more by oaths and threatenings, prevailed with them to fulfill their promise. Our hero having thus, with wonderful address, brought this great and glorious action to a happy conclusion, re- JONATHAN WILD. 61 solved to relax his mind after his fatigue, in the conver- sation of the fair. He therefore set forwards to his lovely Lsetitia; hut in his way accidentally met with a young lady of his acquaintance, Miss Molly Straddle, who was taking the air in Bridges street. Miss Molly, seeing Mr. Wild, stopped him, and with a familiarity peculiar to a genteel town education, tapped or rather slapped him on the back, and asked him to treat her with a pint of wine at a neigh- boring tavern. The hero, though he loved the chaste Laetitia with excessive tenderness, was not of that low snivehng breed of mortals who, as it is generally' ex- pressed, tie themselves to a woman's apron-strings; in a word, who are tainted with that mean, base, low vice, or virtue as it is called, of constancy ; therefore he imme- diately consented, and attended her to a tavern famous for excellent wine, known by the name of the Rummer and Horseshoe, where they retired to a room by them- selves. Wild was very vehement in his addresses, but to no purpose ; the young lady declared she would grant no favor till he had made her a present ; this was imme- diately complied with, and the lover made as happy as he could desire. The immoderate fondness which Wild entertained for his dear Laetitia would not suffer him to waste any con- siderable time with Miss Straddle. Notwithstanding, therefore, all the endearments and caresses of that young lady, he soon made an excuse to go down stairs, and thence immediately set forward to Laetitia without taking any formal leave of Miss Straddle, or indeed of the drawer, with whom the lady was afterwards obliged to come to an account for the reckoning. Mr. Wild, on his arrival at Mr. Snap's, found only Miss Doshy at home, that young lady being employed alone, in imitation of Penelope, with her thread or worsted, only with this difference, that whereas Penelope unraveled by night what she had knit or wove or spun by day, so what our young heroine unraveled by day she knit again by 62 JONATHAN WILD. night. In short, she was mending a pair of blue stock- ings with red clocks ; a circumstance which perhaps we might have omitted, had it not served to show that there are still some ladies of this age who imitate the simplicity of the ancients. Wild immediately asked for his beloved, and was in- formed that she was not at home. He then inquired where she was to be found, and declared he would not depart till he had seen her, nay, not till he had married her ; for, indeed, his passion for her was truly honorable ; in other words, he had so ungovernable a desire for her person, that he would go any length to satisfy it. He then pulled out the casket, which he swore was full of the finest jewels, and that he would give them all to her, with other promises, which so prevailed on Miss Doshy, who had not the common failure of sisters in envying, and often endeavoring to disappoint, each other's happiness, that she desired Mr. Wild to sit down a few minutes, whilst she endeavored to find her sister and to bring her to him. The lover thanked her, and promised to stay till her return; and Miss Doshy, leaving Mr. Wild to his meditations, fastened him in the kitchen by barring the door (for most of the doors in this mansion were made to be bolted on the outside), and then, slapping to the door of the house with great violence, without going out at it, she stole softly upstairs where Miss Laetitia was engaged in close conference with Mr. Bagshot. Miss Letty, being informed by her sister in a whisper of what Mr. Wild had said, and what he had produced, told Mr. Bagshot that a young lady was below to visit her whom she would dis- patch with all imaginable haste and return to him. She desired him therefore to stay with patience for her in the meantime, and that she would leave the door unlocked, though her papa would never forgive her if he should discover it. Bagshot promised on his honor not to step without his chamber ; and the two young ladies went softly downstairs, when, pretending first to make JONATHAN WILD. 63 their entry into the house, they repaired to the kitchen, where not even the presence of the chaste Laetitia could restore that harmony to the countenance of her lover which Miss Theodosia had left him possessed of; for, during her absence, he had discovered the absence of a purse containing bank-notes for 900Z., which had been taken from Mr. Heartfree, and which, indeed. Miss Straddle had, in the warmth of his amorous caresses, unperceived drawn from him. However, as he had that perfect mastery of his temper, or rather of his muscles, which is as necessary to the forming a great character as to the personating it on the stage, he soon conveyed a smile into his countenance, and, concealing as well his misfortune as his chagrin at it, began to pay honorable addresses to Miss Letty. This young lady, among other good ingredients, had three very predominant passions ; to wit, vanity, wantonness, and avarice. To satisfy the first of these she employed Mr. Smirk and company ; to the second, Mr. Bagshot and company ; and our hero had the honor and happiness of solely engrossing the third. Now, these three sorts of lovers she had very different ways of entertaining. With the first she was all gay and coquette ; with the second all fond and rampant ; and with the last all cold and reserved. She therefore told Mr. Wild, with a most composed aspect, that she was glad he had repented of his manner of treating her at their last interview, where his behavior was so mon- strous that she had resolved never to see him any more ; that she was afraid her own sex would hardly pardon her the weakness she was guilty of in receding from that Resolution, which she was persuaded she never should have brought herself to, had not her sister, who was bhere to confirm what she said ( as she did with many oaths), betrayed her into his company, by pretending it "was another person to visit her : but, however, as he now thought proper to give her more convincing proofs of his piflections (for he had now the casket in his hand), and 64 JONATHAN WILD. since she perceived Ws designs were no longer against her virtue, but were such as a woman of honor might listen to, she must own and then she feigned an hesitation, when Theodosia began : " Nay, sister, I am resolved you shall counterfeit no longer. I assure you, Mr. Wild, she hath the most violent passion for you in the world ; and, indeed, dear Tishy, if you ofifer to go back, since I plainly see Mr. Wild's designs are honorable, I will betray all you have ever said." — " How, sister !" answered Lsetitia; " I protest you will drive me out of the room : I did not expect this usage from you." Wild then fell on his knees, and, taking hold of her hand, repeated a speech, which, as the reader may easily suggest it to himself, I shall not here set down. He then offered her the casket, but she gently rejected it ; and on a second offer, with a modest countenance and voice, desired to know what it contained. Wild then opened it, and took forth (with sorrow I write it, and with sorrow will it be read) one of those beautiful necklaces with which, at the fair of Bartholomew, they deck the well-bewhitened neck of Thalestris, queen of Amazons, Anna BuUen, Queen Elizabeth, or some other high princess in DroUic story. It was indeed composed of that paste which Derdsus Magnus, an ingenious toy- man, doth at a very moderate price dispense of to the second-rate beaux of the metropolis. For, to open a truth, which we ask our reader's pardon for having concealed from him so long, the sagacious count, wisely fearing lest some accident might prevent Mr. Wild's return at the appointed time, had carefully conveyed the jewels which Mr. Heartfree had brought with him into his own pocket, and in their stead had placed in the casket these artificial stones, which, though of equal value to a philosopher^ and perhaps of a much greater to a true admirer of the compositions of art, had not however the same charms in the eyes of Miss Letty, who had indeed some knowledge of jewels ; for Mr. Snap, with great reason, considering how valuable a part of a lady's education it would be to JONATHAN WILD. 65 be well Instructed in these things, in an age when young ladies learn little more than how to dress themselves, had in her youth placed Miss Letty as the handmaid (or house- maid as the vulgar call it) of an eminent pawnbroker. The lightning, therefore, which should have flashed from the jewels, flashed from her eyes, and thunder immedi- , ately followed from her voice. She be-knaved, be-rascalled, be-rogued the unhappy hero, who stood silent, con- founded with astonishment, but more with shame and indignation, at being thus outwitted and overreached. At length he recovered his spirits, and, throwing down the casket in a rage, he snatched the key from the table, and, without making any answer to the ladies, who both very plentifully opened upon him, and without taking any leave of them, he flew out at the door, and repaired with the utmost expedition to the count's habitation. CHAPTER IV. In which Wild, after many fruitless endeavors to discover his friend, moralizes on his misfortune in a speech, which may be of use {if rightly understood) to some other considerable speech- makers. Not the highest-fed footman of the highest-bred woman of quality knocks with more impetuosity than Wild did at the count's door, which was immediately opened by a well-dressed liveryman, who answered that his master was not at home. Wild, not satisfied with this, searched the house, but to no purpose ; he then ransacked all the gaming-houses in town, but found no count : indeed, that gentleman had taken leave of his house the same instant Mr. Wild had turned his back, and, equipping himself with boots and a post-horse, without taking with him either servants, clothes, or any necessaries for the jour- ney of a great man, made such mighty expedition that he was now upwards of twenty miles on his way to Dover, 66 JONATHAN WILD. "Wild, finding his search ineffectual, resolved to give (t over for that night ; he then retired to his seat of cpsi- templation, a night-cellar, where, without a single farth- ing in his pocket, he called for a sneaker of punch, and, placing himself on a bench by himself, he softly vented the following soliloquy : — "How vain is human greatness! What avail su- perior abilities, and a noble defiance of those narrow rules and bounds which confine the vulgar, when our best-con- certed schemes are liable to be defeated ! How unhappy is the state of priggish ! How impossible for human prudence to foresee and guard against every circumven- tion ! It is even as a game of chess, where, while the rook, or knight, or bishop, is busied in forecasting some great enterprise, a worthless pawn interposes and discon- certs his scheme. Better had it been for me to have ob- served the simple laws of friendship and morality than thus to ruin my friend for the benefit of others. I might have commanded his purse to any degree of moderation : I have now disabled him from the power of serving me. Well ! but that was not my design. If I cannot arraign my own conduct, why should I, like a woman or a child, sit down and lament the disappointment of chance ? But can I acquit myself of all neglect ? Did I not misbehave in putting it into the power of others to outwit me ? But that is impossible to be avoided. In this & prig is more unhappy than any other : a cautious man may, in a crowd, preserve his own pockets by keeping his hands in them ; but while the prig employs his hands in another's pocket, how shall he be able to defend his own ? Indeed, in this light, what can be imagined more miserable than a prig ? How dangerous are his acquisitions ! how unsafe, how unquiet his possessions ! Why then should any man wish to be &prig, or where is his greatness ? I answer, in Jiis mind : it is the inward glory, the secret consciousness of doing great and wonderful actions, which can alone sup- port the truly GREAT man, whether he be a conqueror, JONATHAN WILD. 67 a TYRANT, a STATESMAN, Or a PKiG. ' These must bear him up against the private curse and public imprecation, and, while he is hated and detested by all mankind, must make him inwardly satisfied with himself. For what but some such inward satisfaction as this could inspire men pos- sessed of power, of wealth, of every human blessing which pride, avarice, or luxury could desire, to forsake their homes, abandon ease and repose, and at the ex- pense of riches and pleasures, at the price of labor and hardship, and at the hazard of all that fortune hath lib- erally given them, could send them at the head of a mul- titude oi prigs, called an army, to molest their neighbors ; to introduce rape, rapine, bloodshed, and every kind of misery among their own species ? What but some such glorious appetite of mind could inflame princes, endowed with the greatest honors, and enriched with the most plentiful revenues, to desire maliciously to rob those sub- jects of their liberties who are content to sweat for the luxury, and to bow down their knees to the pride, of those very princes ? What but this can inspire them to destroy one-half of their subjects, in order to reduce the rest to an absolute dependence on their own wills, and on those of their brutal successors? What other motive could seduce a subject, possessed of great property in his community, to betray the interest of his fellow-subjects, of his brethren, and his posterity, to the wanton disposi- tion of such princes ? Lastly, what less inducement could persuade the prig to forsake the methods of acquiring a safe, an honest, and a plentiful livelihood, and, at the hazard of even life itself, and what is mistakingly called dishonor, to break openly and bravely through the laws of his country, for uncertain, unsteady, and unsafe gain ? Let me then hold myself contented with this reflection, that I have been wise though unsuccessful, and am a great though an unhappy man." His soliloquy and his punch concluded together ; for he had at every pause comforted himself with a sip. And 68 JONATHAN WILD. now it came first into his head that it would be more dif-. ficult to pay for it than it was to swallow it ; when, to his great pleasure, he beheld at another corner of the room one of the gentlemen whom he had employed in the attack on Heartfree, and who, he doubted not, would readily lend him a guinea or two ; but he had the morti- fication, on applying to him, to hear that the gaming- table had stripped him of all the bootv which his own generosity had left in his possession. He was therefore obliged to pursue his usual method on such occasions : so, cocking his hat fiercely, he marched out of the room without making any excuse or any one daring to make the least demand. CHAPTER V. Containing many surprising adventures, which our hero, with GREiT GREATNESS, achieved. We will now leave our hero to take a short repose, and return to Mr. Snap's, Wher6 at Wild's departure, the fair Theodosia had again betaken herself to her stocking, and Miss Letty had retired upstairs to Mr. Bagshot; but that gentleman had broken his parole, and, having conveyed himself below stairs behind a door, he took the oppor- tunity of Wild's sally to make his escape. We shall only observe that Miss Letty 's surprise was the greater, as she had, notwithstanding her promise to the contrary, taken the precaution to turn the key ; but, in her hurry, she did it ineffectually. How wretched must have be^n the situation of this young creature, who had only lost a lover on whom her tender heart perfectly doted, but was exposed to the rage of an injured father, tenderly jealous of his honor, which was deeply engaged to the sheriff of London and Middlesex for the safe custody of the said Bagshot, and for which two very good responsible friends had given not only their words but their bonds. JONATHAN WILD. 69 But let us remove our eyes from this melancholy ob- ject, and survey our hero who, after a successless search for Miss Straddle, with wonderful greatness of mind and steadiness of countenance went early in the morning to visit his friend Heartfree, at a time when the common herd of friends would have forsaken and avoided him. He entered the room with a cheerful air, which he presently changed into surprise on seeing his friend in a nightgown, with his wounded head bound about with linen, and look- ing extremely pale from a great effusion of blood. When Wild was informed by Heartfree what had happened he first expressed great sorrow, and afterwards suffered as violent agonies of rage against the robbers to burst from him. Heartfree, in compassion to the deep impression his misfortunes seemed to make on his friend, endeavored to lessen it as much as possible, at the same time exag- gerating the obligation he oWed to Wild, in which his wife likewise seconded him, and they breakfasted with more comfort than was reasonably to be expected after such an accident; Heartfree expressing great satisfaction that he had put the count's note in another pocket-book ; ad ding, that such a loss would have been fatal to him ; " for to confess the truth to you, my dear friend," said he, "I have had some losses lately which have greatly perplexed my affairs; and though I have many debts due to me from people of great fashion, I assure you I know not where to be certain of getting a shilling." Wild greatly felicitated him on the lucky accident of preserving his note, and then proceeded, with much acrimony, to inveigh against the barbarity of people of fashion, who kept tradesmen out of their money. While they amused themselves with discourses of this kind, Wild meditating within himself whether he should borrow or steal from his friend, or indeed whether he could not effect both, the apprentice brought a bank- note of 500?. in to Heartfree, which he said a gentlewoman in the shop, who had been looking at some jewels, de^ 70 JONATHAN WILD. sired him to exchange. Heartfree, looking at the num- ber, immediately recollected it to be one of those he had been robbed of. "With this discovery he acquainted Wild, who, with the notable presence of mind and unchanged complexion so essential to a great character, advised him to proceed cautiously ; and offered (as Mr. Heartfree him- self was, he said, too much flustered to examine the woman with sufficient art), to take her into a room in his house alone. He would, he said, personate the master of the shop, would pretend to show her some jewels, and would undertake to get sufficient information out of her to secure the rogues, and most probably all their booty. This proposal was readily and thankfully accepted by Heartfree. Wild went immediately upstairs into the room appointed, whither the apprentice, according to ap- pointment, conducted the lady. The apprentice was ordered downstairs the moment the lady entered the room ; and Wild, having shut the door, approached her with great ferocity in his looks, and be- gan to expatiate on the complicated baseness of the crime she had been guilty of ; but though he uttered many good lessons of morality, as we doubt whether from a particu- lar reason they may work any very good effect on our reader, we shall omit his speech, and only mention his conclusion, which was by asking her what mercy she could now expect from him ? Miss Straddle, for that was the young lady, who had had a good execution, and had been more than once present at the Old Bailey, very con- fidently denied the whole charge, and said she had received the note from a friend. Wild then raising his voice, told her she should be immediately committed, and she might depend on being convicted ; "but," added he, changing his tone, " as I have a violent affection for thee, my dear Straddle, if you will follow my advice, I promise you, on my honor, to forgive you, nor shall you be ever called in question on this account." — " Why, what would you have me to do, Mr. Wild ?" replied the young lady, with a JONATHAN WILD. 71 pleasanter aspect. — "You must know then," said Wild, " the money you picked out of my pocket (nay, by G — d you did, and if you offer to flinch you shall be convicted of it) I won at play of a fellow who it seems robbed my friend of it ; you must, therefore, give an information on oath against one Thomas Fierce, and say that you re- ceived the note from him, and leave the rest to me. I am certain, Molly, you must be sensible of your obligations to me, who return good for evil to you in this manner." The lady readily consented, and advanced to embrace Mr. Wild, who stepped a little back, and cried, "Hold, Molly ; there are two other notes of 200 Z. each to be accounted for — where are they ?" The lady protested with the most solemn asseverations that she knew of no more ; with which, when Wild was not satisfied, she cried, " I will stand search." — "That you shall," answered Wild, " and stand strip too." He then proceeded to tumble and search her, but to no purpose, till at last she burst into tears, and declared she would tell the truth (as indeed she did) ; she then confessed that she had disposed of the one to Jack Swagger, a great favorite of the ladies, being an Irish gentleman, who had been bred clerk to an attorney, afterwards whipped out of a regiment ot dragoons, and was then a Newgate solicitor, and a bawdyhouse bully ; and, as for the other, she had laid it all out that very morning in brocaded silks and Flanders lace. With this account Wild, who indeed knew it to be a very probable one, was forced to be contented ; and now, abandoning all further thoughts of what he saw was irretrievably lost, he gave the lady some further instructions, and then, desiring her to stay a few minutes behind him, he re- turned to his friend, and acquainted him that he had dis- covered the whole roguery ; that the woman had confessed from whom she had received the note, and promised to give an information before a justice of peace ; adding, he was concerned he could not attend him thither, being obliged to go to the other end of the town to receive thirty 13 JONATHAN WILD. pounds, which he was to pay that evening. Heartfree said that should not prevent him of his company, for he could easily lend him such a trifle. This was accordingly done and accepted, and Wild, Heartfree, and the lady went to the justice together. The warrant being granted, and the constable being acquainted by the lady, who received her information from Wild, of Mr. Fierce's haunts, he was easily appre- hended, and, being confronted with Miss Straddle, who swore positively to him, though she had never seen him before, he was committed to Newgate, where he immedi- ately conveyed an information to Wild of what had hap- pened, and in the evening received a visit from him. Wild affected great concern for his friend's misfortune, and as great surprise at the means by which it was brought about. However, he told Fierce that he must certainly be mistaken in that point of his having had no acquaintance with Miss Straddle; but added that he would find her out, and endeavor to take off her evidence, which, he observed, did not come home enough to endan- ger him ; besides, he would secure him witnesses of an alibi, and five or six to his character ; so that he need be under no apprehension, for his confinement till the sessions would be his only punishment. Fierce, who was greatly comforted by these assurances of his friend, returned him many thanks, and, both shak- ing each other very earnestly by the hand, with a very hearty embrace they separated. The hero considered with himself that the single evi- dence of Miss Straddle would not be suflticient to convict Fierce, whom he resolved to hang, as he was the person who had principally refused to deliver him the stip- ulated share of the booty ; he therefore went in quest of Mr. James Sly, the gentleman who had assisted him in the exploit, and found and acquainted him with the appre- hending of Fierce. Wild then, intimating his fear lest Fierce should impeach Sly, advised him to be beforehand, JONATHAN WILD. 73 to surrender himself to a justice of the peace and offer himself as an evidence. Sly approved Mr. Wild's opinion, went directly to a magistrate, and was by him commit- ted to the Gate-house, with a promise of toeing admitted evidence against his companion. Fierce was in a few days brought to his trial at the Old Bailey, where, to his great confusion, his old friend Sly appeared against him, as did Miss Straddle. His only hopes were now in the assistances which our hero had promised him. These unhappily failed him : so that, the evidence being plain against him, and he making no defense, the jury convicted him, the court condemned him, and Mr. Ketch executed him. With such infinite address did this truly great man know how to play with the passions of men, to set them at variance with each other, and to work his own pur- ' poses out of those jealousies and apprehensions which he !, was wonderfully ready at creating by means of those ,' great arts which the vulgar call treachery, dissembling, promising, lying, falsehood, etc., but which are by great men summed up in the collective name of policy, or I politics, or rather pollitrics; an art of which, as it is/ the highest excellence of human nature, perhaps our \ great man was the most eminent master. CHAPTER VI. Of hats. Wild had now got together a very considerable gang, composed of undone gamesters, ruined bailiffs, broken tradesmen, idle apprentices, attorneys' clerks, and loose and disorderly youth, who, being born to no fortune, nor bred to any trade or profession, were willing to live lux- uriously without labor. As these persons wore different principles, i. e., hats, frequent dissensions grew among them. There were particularly two parties, viz.: those 74 JONATHAN WILD. who wore h.dAiS fiercely cocked, and those who preferred ihe nab or trencher hat, with the brim flapping over their eyes. The former were called cavaliers and tory rory ranter hoys, etc.; the latter went by the several names of wags, roundheads, shakebags, oldnolls, and several others. Between these continual jars arose, inso- much that they grew in time to think there was some- thing essential in their differences, and that their inter- ests were incompatible with each other, whereas, in truth, the difference lay only in the fashion of their hats. Wild, therefore, having assembled them all at an alehouse on the night after Fierce's execution, and perceiving evident marks of their misunderstanding, from their behavior to each other, addressed them in the following gentle, but forcible manner:* "Gentlemen, I am ashamed to see men embarked in so great and glorious an undertaking as that of robbing the public, so foolishly and weakly dissenting among themselves. Do you think the first inventors of hats, or at least of the distinctions between them, reaUy conceived that one form of hats should inspire a man with divinity, another with law, another with learning, or another with bravery ? No, they meant no more by these outward signs than to impose on the vulgar, and, instead of putting great men to the trouble of acquiring or maintaining the substance, to make it sufficient that they condescend to wear the type or shadow of it. You do wisely, therefore, when in a crowd, to * There is something very mysterious in tliis s^ecli, wliich probably that chapter written by Aristotle on this subject, which is mentioned by a French author, might have given some light into; but that is unhappily among the lost works of that philosopher. It is remarkable that gaXerua^ which is Latin for a hat, signifies likewise a dog-fish, as the Greek word huven doth the skin of that animal; of which 1 suppose the hats or helmets of the ancients were composed, as ours at present are of the beaver or rabbit. Sophocles, in the latter end of his Ajax, alludes to a method of cheating in hats, and the scholiast on the place tells us of one Crephonates, who was a master of the art. It is observable likewise that Achilles, in the first Iliad of Homer, tells Agamemnon, in anger, that he had dog^s eyes. Now, as the eyes of a dog are handsomer than those of almost any other animal, this could be no term oi reproach. He must therefore mean that he had a hat on, which, perhaps, from the creature it was made of, or from some other reason, might have been a mark of infamy. This supersti- tious opinion may account for that custom, which hath descended through all nations, of showing respect by pulling off this covering, and that no man is esteemed fit to converse with his superiors with it on, 1 shall conclude this learned note with remarking that the term oldliatls at present used by the, Tuigar in no very honorable sense. JONATHAN WILD. 75 amuse the mob by quarrels on such accounts, that while they are listening' to your jargon you may with the greater ease and safety pick their pockets : but surely to be in earnest, and privately to keep up such a ridic- ulous contention among yourselves, must argue the high- est folly and absurdity. When you know you are all prigs what difference can a broad or a narrow brim cre- ate ? Is a prig less a prig in one hat than in another ? If the public should be weak enough to interest them- selves in your quarrels, and to prefer one pack to the other, while both are aiming at their purses, it is your business to laugh at, not imitate their folly. What can be more ridiculous than for gentlemen to quarrel about hats, when there is not one among you whose hat is worth a farthing ? What is the use of a hat farther than to keep the head warm, or to hide a bald crown from the public ? It is the mark of a gentleman to move his h^t on every occasion ; and in courts and noble assemblies no man ever wears one. Let me hear no more therefore of this childish disagreement, but all toss up your hats together with one accord, and consider that hat as the best, which will contain the largest booty." He thus ended his speech, which was followed by a murmuring applause, and immediately all present tossed their hats together as he had commanded them. CHAPTER VII. Showing the consequence which attended Heartfree's adventures ivith Wild; all natural and common enough to little wretches who deal with great men, together with some precedents of let- ters, being the different methods of answering a dun. Let us now return to Heartfree, to whom the count's note, which he had paid away, was returned, with an ac- count that the drawer was not to be found, and that, on inquiring after him, they had heard he was run away, W— 6 76 JONATHAN WILD. and consequently the money was now demanded of the endorser. The apprehension of such a loss would have affected any man of business, but much more one whose unavoidable ruin it must prove. He expressed so much concern and confusion on this occasion, that the proprie- tor of the note was frightened, and resolved to lose no time in securing what he could. So that in the afternoon of the same day Mr. Snap was commissioned to pay Heartfree a visit, which he did with his usual formality, and conveyed him to his own house. Mrs. Heartfree was no sooner informed of .what had happened to her husband than she raved like one dis- tracted ; but after she had vented the first agonies of her passion in tears and lamentations she applied herself to all possible means to procure her husband's liberty. She hastened to beg her neighbors to secure bail for him. But, as the news had arrived at their houses before her, she found none of them at home, except an honest quaker, whose servants durst not tell a lie. However, she suc- ceeded no better with him, for unluckily he had made an affirmation the day before that he would never be bail for any man. After many fruitless efforts of this kind she repaired to her husband, to comfort him at least with her presence. She found him sealing the last of several letters, which he was dispatching to his friends and cred- itors. The moment he saw her a sudden joy sparkled in his eyes, which, however, had a very short duration ; for despair soon closed them again ; nor could he help burst- ing into some passionate expressions of concern for her and his little family, which she, on her part, did her ut- most to lessen, by endeavoring to mitigate the loss, and to raise in him hopes from the count, who might, she said, be possibly only gone into the country. She com- forted him likewise with the expectation of favor from his acquaintance, especially from those whom he had in a particular manner obliged and served. Lastly, she con- jured Mm, by all the value and esteem he professed for JONATHAN WILD, 77 her, not to endanger his health, on which alone depended her happiness, by too great an indulgence of grief ; assur- ing him that no state of life could appear unhappy to her with him, unless his own sorrow or discontent made it so. In this manner did this weak, poor-spirited woman attempt to relieve her husband's pains, which it would have rather become her to aggravate, by not only paint- ing out his misery in the liveliest colors imaginable, but by upbraiding him with that folly and confidence which had occasioned it, and by lamenting her own hard fate in being obliged to share his sufferings. Heartfree returned this goodness (as it is called) of his wife with the warmest gratitude, and they passed an ' hour in a scene of tenderness too low and contemptible to be recounted to our great readers. We shall therefore omit all such relations, as they tend only to make human nature low and ridiculous. Those messengers who had obtained any answers to his letters now returned. We shall here copy a few of them, as they may serve for precedents to others who have an occasion, which happens commonly enough in genteel life, to answer the impertinence of a dim. Letter I. Mr. Heaktfree, — My lord commands me to tell you he is very much surprised at your assurance in asking for money which you know hath been so little while due ; however, as he intends to deal no longer at your shop, he hath ordered me to pay you as soon as I shall have cash in hand, which, considering many disbursements for bills long due, etc., can't possibly promise anytime, etc. , at ^present. And am your humble servant, Roger Morecraft. Letter U. , Deab Sir,— The money, as you truly say, hath been three years due, but upon my soul 1 am. at present incapable of paying a farthing ; but, as I doubt not, very shortly, not only to content that small 78 JONATHAN WILD. bill, but likewise to lay out very considerable further suras at your house, hope you will meet with no inconvenience by this short de- lay in, dear sir, your most sincere humble servant, Cha. Courtly. Letter EI. Mr. Heartfeee, — I beg you would not acquaint my husband of the trifling debt between us ; for, as I know you to be a very good-natured man, I will trust you with a secret ; he gave me the money long since to discharge it, which I had the ill-luck to lose at play. You may be assured I will satisfy you the first opportunity, and am, sir, your very humble servant, Cath. Rubbers. Please to present my compliments to Mrs. Heartfree. Letter IV. Mr. Thomas Heartfree, Sir, — Yours received ; but as to sum mentioned therein, doth not suit at present. Your humble servant, Peter Pounce. Letter V. Sir,— I am sincerely sorry it is not at present possible for me to comply with your request, especially after so many obligations received on my side, of which I shall always entertain the most grateful memory. I am very greatly concerned at your misfor> tunes, and would have waited upon you in person, but am not at present very well, and besides am obliged to go this evening to Vauxhall. I am, sir, your most obliged humble servant, Chas. Easy. P. S. — I hope good Mrs. Heartfree and the dear little ones are well. There were more letters to much the same purpose ; but we proposed giving our reader a taste only. Of all these, the last was infinitely the most grating to poor Heartfree, as it came from one to whom, when in dis- tress, he had himself lent a considerable sum, and of whose present flourishing circumstances he was well as- sured. JONATHAN WILD. 79 CHAPTEE VIII. In which our hero carries greatness to an immoderate height. Let us remove, therefore, as fast as we can, this detest- able picture of ingratitude, and present the much more agreeable portrait of that assurance to which the French v6ry properly annex the epithet of good. Heartfree had scarce done reading his letters when our hero appeared before his eyes; not with that aspect with which a pitiful parson meets his patron after having opposed him at an election, or which a doctor wears when sneaking away from a door where he is informed of his patient's death; not with that downcast countenance which betrays the man who, after a strong conflict between virtue and vice, hath surrendered his mind to the latter, and is discovered in his first treachery; but with that noble, bold, great confidence with which a prime minister assures his de- pendent that the place he promised him was disposed of before. And such concern and uneasiness as he expresses in his looks on those occasions did Wild testify on the first meeting of his friend. And as the said prime minis- ter chides you for neglect of your interest in not having asked in time, so did our hero attack Heartfree for his giving credit to the count; and, without suffering him to make any answer, proceeded in a torrent of words to overwhelm him with abuse, which, however friendly its intention might be, was scarce to be outdone by an enemy. By these means Heartfree, who might per- haps otherwise have vented some little concern for that recommendation which Wild had given him to the count, was totally prevented from any such endeavor; and, like an invading prince, when attacked in his own dominions, forced to recall his whole strength to defend himself at home. This indeed he did so well, by insisting on the figure and outward 80 JONATHAN WILD. appearance of the count and his equipage, that Wild at length grew a little more gentle, and with a sigh said, "I confess I have the least reason of all mankind to cen- sure another for an imprudence of this nature, as I am mysell! the most easy to be imposed upon, and indeed have been so by this count, who, if he be insolvent, hath cheated me of five hundred pounds. But, for my own part," said he, "I will not yet despair, nor would I have you. Many men have found it convenient to retire or ab- scond for a while, and afterwards have paid their debts, or at least handsomely compounded them. This I am certain of, should a composition take place, which is the worst I think that can be apprehended, I shall be the only loser; for I shall think myself obliged in honor to repair your loss, even though you must confess it was principally owing to your own folly. Z — ds ! had I imagined it necessary, I would have cautioned you, but I thought the part of the town where he lived sufficient caution not to trust him. And such a sum! The devil must have been in you certainly!" This was a degree of impudence beyond poor Mrs. Heartfree's imagination. Though she had before vented the most violent execrations on Wild, she was now thoroughly satisfied of his innocence, and begged him not to insist any longer on what he perceived so deeply affected her husband. She said trade could not be car- ried on without credit, and surely he was sufficiently jus- tified in giving it to such a person as the count appeared to be. Besides, she said, reflections on what was past and irretrievable would be of little service; that their present business was to consider how to prevent the evil consequences which threatened, and firs tto endeavor to procure her husband his liberty. "Why doth he not pro- cure bail?" said Wild.— 'fAlas! sir!" said she, "we have applied to many of our acquaintance in vain; we have met with excuses even where we could least expect them." — "Not bail!" answered Wild, in a passion; "he shall have JONATHAN WILD. 81 bail, if there is any in the world. It is now very late, but trust me to procure him bail to-morrow morning." Mrs. Heartfree received these professions with tears, and told Wild he was a friend indeed. She then proposed to stay that evening with her husband, but he would not permit her on account of his little family, whom he would not agree to trust to the care of servants in this time of confusion. A hackney-coach was then sent for, but without success; for these, like hackney-friends, always offer themselves in the sunshine, but are never to be found when you want them. And as for a chair, Mr Snap lived in a part of the town which chairmen very little frequent. The good woman was therefore obliged to walk home, whither the gallant Wild offered to attend her as a protector. This favor was thankfully accepted, and, the husband and wife having taken a tender leave of each other, the for- mer was locked in and the latter locked out by the hands of Mr. Snap himself. As this visit of Mr. Wild's to Heartfree may seem one of those passages in history which writers, Drawcansir- like, introduce only because they dare; indeed, as it may seem somewhat contradictory to the greatness of our hero, and may tend to blemish his character with an im- putation of that kind of friendship which savors too much of weakness and imprudence, it may be necessary to account for this visit, especially to our more sagacious readers, whose satisfaction we shall always consult in the most especial manner. They are to know then that at the first interview with Mrs. Heartfree Mr. Wild had con- ceived that passion, or affection, or friendship, or desire, for that handsome creature, which the gentlemen of this our age agreed to call love and which is indeed no other than that kind of affection which, after the exercise of the dominical day is over, a lusty divine is apt to conceive for the well-dressed sirloin or handsome buttock which the well-edifled squire in gratitude sets before him, and wLichj 82 JONATHAN WILD. so violent is his love, he devours in imagination the moment he sees it. Not less ardent was the hungry pas- sion of our hero, who, from the moment he had cast his eyes on that charming dish, had cast about in his mind by what method he might come at it. This, as he per- ceived, might most easily be effected after the ruin of Heartfree, which, for other considerations, he had in- tended. So he postponed all endeavors for this purpose till he had first effected what, by order of time, was regu- larly to precede this latter design; with such regularity did this our hero conduct all his schemes, and so truly superior was he to all the efforts of passion, which so often disconcert and disappoint the noblest views of others. CHAPTER IX. More GREATNESS in Wild. A low scene between Mrs. Heartfree and her children, and a scheme of our hero worthy the highest ad- miration, and even astonishment. When first Wild conducted his flame (or rather his dish, to continue our metaphore) from the proprietor, he had projected a design of conveying her to one of those eating-houses in Covent Garden, where female flesh is deliciously dressed and served up to the greedy appetites of young gentlemen ; but, fearing lest she should not come readily enough into his wishes, and that, by too eager and hasty a pursuit, he should frustrate his future expectations, and luckily at the same time a noble hint suggesting itself to him by which he might almost inev- itably secure his pleasure, together with his profit, he contented himself with waiting on Mrs. Heartfree home, and, after many protestations of friendship and service to her husband, took his leave, and promised to visit her early in the morning, and to conduct her back to Mr. Snap's. JONATHAN WILD. 83 Wild now retired to a night-cellar, where he found sev- eral of his acquaintance, with whom he spent the remain- ing part of the night in revelling ; nor did the least com- passion for Heartfree's misfortunes disturb the pleasure of his cups. So truly great was his soul that it was ab- solutely composed, save that an apprehension of Miss Tishy's making some discovery (as she was then in no good temper towards him) a little ruffled and disquieted tlie perfect serenity he would otherwise have enjoyed. As he had, therefore, no opportunity of seeing her that eve- ning, he wrote her a letter full of ten thousand protesta- tions of honorable love, and (which he more depended on) containing as many promises, in order to bring the young lady into good humor, without acquainting her in the least with his suspicion, or giving her any caution ; for it was his constant maxim never to put it into any one's head to do you a mischief by acquainting him that it is in his power. We must now return to Mrs. Heartfree, who passed a sleepless night in as great agonies and horror for the ab- sence of her husband as a fine well-bred woman would feel at the return of hers from a long voyage or jour- ney. In the morning the children being brought to her, the eldest asked where dear papa was ? at which she could not refrain from bursting into tears. The child, perceiving it, said, " Don't cry, mamma ; I am sure papa would not stay abroad if he could help it." At these words she caught the child in her arms, and, throwing herself into the chair in an agony of passion, cried out " No, my child ; nor shall all the malice of hell keep us long asunder." These are circumstances which we should not, for the amusement of six or seven readers only, have inserted, had they not served to show that there are weaknesses in vulgar life to which great minds are so entirely strangers that they have not even an idea of them; and, secondly, by exposing the folly of this low creature, 84 JONATHAN WILD, to set off and elevate that greatness of wMcli we endeavor to draw a true portrait in this history. Wild, entering the room, found the mother with one child in her arms, and the other at her knee. After pay- ing her his compliments, he desired her to dismiss the children and servant, for that he had something of the greatest moment to impart to her. She immediately complied with his request, and, the door being shut, asked him with great eagerness if he had succeeded in his intentions of procuring the bail. He answered he had not endeavored at it yet, for a scheme had entered into his head by which she might certainly preserve her husband, herself, and her family. In order to which he advised her instantly to remove with the most valuable jewels she had to Holland, before any statute of bankruptcy issued to prevent her; that he vould himself attend her thither and place her in safety, and then re- turn to deliver her husband, who would be thus easily able to satisfy his creditors. He added that he was that instant come from Snap's, where he had communicated the scheme to Heartfree, who had greatly approved of it, and desired her to put it in execution without delay, concluding that a moment was not to be lost. The mention of her husband's approbation left no doubt in this poor woman's breast; she only desired a moment's time to pay him a visit in order to take her leave. But Wild peremptorily refused ; he said by every moment's delay she risked the ruin of her family; that she would be absent only a few days from him, for that the moment he had lodged her safe in Holland he would return, pro- cure her husband his liberty, and bring him to her. " I have been the unfortunate, the innocent cause of all my dear Tom's calamity, madam," said he, "and I will perish with him or see him out of it." Mrs. Heartfree overflowed with acknowledgments of his goodness, but still begged for the shortest interview with her husband. Wild declared that a minute's delay might be fatal; and JONATHAN WILD. 86 added, ttougli witli the voice of sorrow rather than of anger, that if she had not resolution enough to execute the commands he brought her from her husband, his ruin would lie at her door ; and, for his own part, he must give up any farther meddling in his affairs. She then proposed to take her children with her ; but Wild would not permit it, saying they would only retard their flight, and that it would be properer for her hus- band to bring them. He at length absolutely prevailed on this poor woman, who immediately packed up the most valuable effects she could find, and, after taking a tender leave of her infants, earnestly recommended them to the care of a very faithful servant. Then they called a hackney-coach, which conveyed them to an inn, where they were furnished with a chariot and six, in which they set forward for Harwich, Wild rode with an exulting heart, secure, as he now thought himself, of the possession of that lovely woman, together with a rich cargo. In short, he enjoyed in his mind all the happiness which unbridled lust and rapa- cious avarice could promise him. As to the poor crea- ture who was to satisfy these passions, her whole soul was employed in reflecting on the condition of her hus- band and children. A single word scarce escaped her lips, though many a tear gushed from her brilliant eyes, which, if I may use a coarse expression, served only as delicious sauce to heighten the appetite of Wild. CHAPTER X. Sea-advmdii/res very new and sv/rprising. When they arrived at Harwich they found a vessel, which had put in there, just ready to depart for Rotter- dam. So they went immediately on board, and sailed with a fair wind; but they had hardly proceeded out of 86 JONATHAN WILD. sight of land when a sudden and violent storm arose and drove them to the south-west; insomuch that the captain apprehended it impossible to avoid the Goodwin Sands, and he and all his crew gave themselves for lost. Mrs. Heart- free, who had no other apprehensions from death but those of leaving her dear husband and children, fell on her knees to beseech the Almighty's favor, when Wild, with a contempt of danger truly great, took a resolution as worthy to be admired perhaps as any recorded of the bravest hero, ancient or modern; a resolution which plainly proved him to have these two qualifications so necessary to a hero, to be superior to all the energies of fear or pity. He saw the tyrant death ready to rescue from him his intended prey, which he had yet devoured only in imagination. He therefore swore he would pre- vent him, and immediately attacked the poor wretch, who was in the utmost agonies of despair, first with solicita- tion, and afterwards with force. Mrs Heartfree, the moment she understood his meaning, which, in her present temper of mind, and in the opinion she held of him, she did not immediately, rejected him with all the repulses which indignation and horror could ani- mate; but when he attempted violence she filled the cabin with her shrieks, which were so vehement that they reached the ears of the captain, the storm at this time luckily abating. This man, who was a brute rather from his education and the element he inhabited than from nature, ran hastily down to her assistance, and, finding her struggling on the ground with our hero, he presently rescued her from her intended ravisher, who was soon obliged to quit the woman, in order to engage with her lusty champion, who spared neither pains nor blows in the assistance of his fair passenger. When the short battle was over, in which our hero, had he not been overpowered with numbers, who came down on their captain's side, would have been victorious, the captain rapped out a hearty oath, and asked Wild if JONATHAN WILD. 87 he had no more Christianity in him than to ravish a ■woman in a storm ? To which the other greatly and sul- lenly answered, "It was very well; but d — n hiniif hehad not satisfaction the moment they came onshore." The captain with great scorn replied, "Kiss ," etc., and then, forcing Wild out of the cabin, he, at Mrs. Heart- free's request, locked her into it, and returned to the care of Lis ship. The storm was now entirely ceased, and nothing re- mained but the usual ruffling of the sea after it, when one of the sailors sp'.ed a sail at a distance, which the captain wisely apprehended might be a privateer (for we were then engaged in a war with France), and immediately ordered all the sail possible to be crowded, but this cau- tion was in vain, for the little wind which then blew was directly adverse, so that the ship bore down upon them, and soon appeared to be what the captain had feared, a French privateer. He was in no condition of resistance, and immediately struck on her firing the first gun. The captain of the Frenchman, with several of his hands, came on board the English vessel, which they rifled of everything valuable, and, amongst the rest, of poor Mrs. Heartfree's whole cargo; and then taking the crew, together with the two passengers, aboard his own ship, he determined, as the other would be only a burthen to him, to sink her, she being very old and leaky, and not worth going back with to Dunkirk. He preserved, therefore, nothing but the boat, as his own was none of the best, and then, pouring a broadside into her, he sent her to the bottom. The French captain, who was a very young fellow, and a man of gallantry, was presently enamored to no small degree with his beautiful captive ; and, imagining Wild, from some words he dropped, to be her husband, not- withstanding the ill affection towards him which ap- peared in her looks, he asked her if she understood French. She answered in the affirmative, for indeed she 88 JONATHAN WILD. did perfectly well. He then asked her how long she and that gentleman (pointing to Wild) had been married. She answered, with a deep sigh and many tears, that she was married indeed, but not to that villain, who was the sole cause of all her misfortunes. The appellation raised a curiosity in the captain, and he importuned her in so pressing but gentle a manner to acquaint him with the injuries she complained of, that she was at last prevailed on to recount to him the whole history of her afflictions. This so moved the captain, who had too little notions ol greatness, and so incensed him against our hero, that he resolved to punish him; and, without regard to the laws of war, he immediately ordered out his shattered boat, and, making Wild a present of half-a- dozen biscuits to prolong his misery, he put him therein,, and then, committing him to the mercy of the sea, pro- ceeded on his cruise. CHAPTER XI. The great and wonderful behavior of our hero in the boat. It is probable that a desire of ingratiating himself with his charming captive, or rather conqueror, had no little share in promoting this extraordinary act of illegal justice ; for the Frenchman had conceived the same sort of passion or hunger which Wild himself had felt, and was almost as much resolved, by some means or other, to satisfy it. We will leave him, however, at present in the pursuit of his wishes, and attend our hero in his boat, since it is in circumstances of distress that true great- ness appears most wonderful. For that a prince in the midst of his courtiers, all ready to compliment him with his favorite character or title, and indeed with everything else, or that a conqueror, at the head of a hundred thou- sand men, all prepared to execute his will, how ambitious, JONATHAN WILD. 89 wanton, or cruel soever, should, in the giddiness of their pride, elevate themselves many degrees above those their tools, seems not difficult to be imagined, or indeed ac- counted for. But that a man in chains, in prison, nay, in the vilest dungeon, should, with persevering pride and obstinate dignity, discover that vast superiority in his own nature over the rest of mankind, who to a vulgar eye seem much happier than himself; nay, that he should discover heaven and providence (whose peculiar care, it seems, he is) at that very time at work for him; this is among the arcana of greatness, to be perfectly under- stood only by an adept in that science. What could be imagined more miserable than the sit- uation of our hero at this season, floating in a little boat on the open seas, without oar, without sail, and at the mercy of the first wave to overwhelm him ? nay, this was indeed the fair side of his fortune, as it was a much more eligible fate than that alternative which threatened him with almost unavoidable certainty, viz. starving with hunger, the sure consequence of a continu- ance of the calm. Our hero, finding himself in this condition, began to ejaculate a round of blasphemies, which the reader, with- out being over-pious, might be offended at seeing re- peated. He then accused the whole female sex, and the passion of love (as he called it), particularly that which he bore to Mrs. Heartfree, as the unhappy occasion of his present sufferings. At length, finding himself de- scending too much into the language of meanness and complaint, he stopped short, and soon after broke forth as follows: "D — n it, a man can die but once ! what signifies it? Everyman must die, and when it is over it is over. I never was afraid of anj'thing yet, nor I won't begin now ; no, d — n me, won't I. What signifies fear ? I shall die whether I am afraid or no ; who's afraid then, d — n me ? " At which words he looked extremely fierce, but, recollecting that no one was present to see him, he 90 JONATHAN WILD. relaxed a little the terror of his countenance, and, paus- ing- a while, repeated the word, d— ^n ! " Suppose I should be d — ned at last," cries he, " when I never thought a syllable of the matter ! I have often laug-hed a,nd made a jest about it, and yet it may be so, for any- thing which I know to the contrary. If there should be another world it will go hard with me, that is certain. I shall never escape for what I have done to Heartfree. The devil must have me for that undoubtedly. The devil ! Pshaw ! I am not such a fool to be frightened at him neither. No, no; when a man's dead there's an end of him. 1 wish I was certainly satisfied of it though ; for there are some men of learning, as I have heard, of a different opinion. It is but a bad chance, methinks, I stand. If there be no other world, why I shall be m no worse condition than a block or a stone ; but if there should d — n me I will think no longer about it. Let a pack of cowardly rascals be afraid of 'death, I dare look him in the face. But shall I stay and be starved ? No, I will eat up the biscuits the French son of a whore bestowed on me, and then leap into the sea for drink, since the unconscionable dog hath not allowed me a single dram." Having thus said, he proceeded immedi- ately to put his purpose in execution, and as his resolu- tion never failed him, he had no sooner despatched the small quantity of provision which his enemy had with no vast liberality presented him, than he cast himself head« long into the sea. CHAPTER XII. The strange and yet natural escape of our hero. Our hero, having with wonderful resolution thrown himself into the sea, as we mentioned at the end of the last chapter, was miraculously within two minutes after replaced in his boat ; and this without the assistance of a JONATHAN WILD. 91 dolphin or a seahorse, or any other fish or animal, who are always as ready at hand when a poet or historian pleases to call for them to cai-ry a hero through the sea, as any chairman at a coffee-house door near St. James's to convey a beau over a street, and preserve his white stockings. The truth is, we do not choose to have any recourse to miracles, from the strict observance we pay to that rule of Horace, Nee Beus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus. The meaning of which is, do not bring in a supernatural agent when you can do without him ; and indeed we are much deeper I'ead in natural than supernatural causes. We will therefore endeavor to account for this extraordi- nary event from the former of these ; and in doing this it will be necessary to disclose some profound secrets to our reader, extremely well worth his knowing, and which may serve him to account for many occurrences of the phenomenous kind which have formerly appeared in this our hemisphere. Be it known, then, that the great Alma Mater, Nature IS of all other females the most obstinate, and tenacious of her purpose. So true is that observation, Naturam expellas furca lieet, usque recurret. Which I need not render in English, it being to be found in a book which most fine gentlemen are forced to read. Whatever Nature, thei'efore, purposes to herself, she never suffers any reason, design, or accident to frustrate. Now, though it may seem to a shallow observer that some persons were designed by Nature for no use or pur- pose whatever, yet certain it is that no man is born into the world without his particular allotment ; viz. some to be kings, some statesmen, some ambassadors, some bishops, some generals, and so on. Of these there be two kinds: those to whom Nature is so generous to give some endowment qualifying them for the parts she intends them afterwards to act on this stage, and those whom she W— 7 92 JONATHAN WILD. uses as instances of her unlimited power, and for whose preferment to such and such stations Solomon himself could have invented no other reason than that Nature designed them so. These latter some great philosophers have, to show them to be the favorites of Nature, dis- tinguished by the honorable appellation of naturals. Indeed, the true reason of the general ignorance of man- kind on this head seems to be this; that, as Nature chooses to execute these her purposes by certain second causes, and as many of these second causes seem so totally foreign to her design, the wit of man, which, hke his eye, sees best directly forward, and very little and im- perfectly what is oblique, is not able to discern the end by the means. Thus, how a handsome wife or daughter should contribute to execute her original designation of a gen- eral, or how flattery or half a dozen houses in a borough- town should denote a judge, or a bishop, he is not capa- ble of comprehending. And, indeed, we ourselves, wise as we are, are forced to reason db effectu; and if we had been asked what Nature had intended such men for, before she herself had by the event demonstrated her pur- pose, it is possible we might sometimes have been puzzled to declare ; for it must be confessed that at first sight, and to a mind uninspired, a man of vast natural incapacity and much acquired knowledge may seem by Nature designed for power and honor, rather than one remark- able only for the want of these, and indeed all other qual- ifications ; whereas daily experience convinces us of the contrary, and drives us as it were into the opinion I have here disclosed. Now, Nature having originally intended our great man for that final exaltation which, as it is the most proper and becoming end of all great men, it were heartily to be wished they might all arrive at, would by no means be diverted from her purpose. She therefore no sooner spied him in the water than she softly whispered in his ear to attempt the recovery of his boat, which call he immedi- JONATHAN WILD. 93 ately obeyed, and being a good swimmer and it being a perfect calm, with great facility accomplished it. Thus we think this passage in our history, at first so greatly surprising, is very naturally accounted for, and our relation rescued from the Prodigious, which, though it often occurs in biography, is not to be encouraged nor much commended on any occasion, unless when abso- lutely necessary to prevent the history's being at an end. Secondly, we hope our hero is justified from that imputa- tion of want of resolution which must have been fatal to the greatness of his character. CHAPTER XIII. The conclusion of the boat adventure and the end of the second book. Our hero passed the remainder of the evening, the night, and the next day, in a condition not much to be envied by any passion of the human mind, unless by ambition; which, provided it can only entertain itself with the most distant music of fame's trumpet, can disdain all the pleasures of the sensualist, and those more solemn, though quieter comforts, which a good conscience sug- gests to a Christian philosopher. He spent his time in contemplation, that is to say, in blaspheming, cursing, and sometimes singing and whis- tling. At last, when cold and hunger had almost subdued his native fierceness, it being a good deal past midnight and extremely dark, he thought he beheld a light at a distance, which the cloudiness of the sky prevented his mistaking for a star ; this light, however, did not seem to approach him, at least it approached by such imper- ceptible degrees that it gave him very little comfort, and at length totally forsook him. He then renewed his contemplation as before, in which he continued till the , day began to break, when, to his inexpressible delight, he beheld a sail at a very little distance, and which luckily 94 JONATHAN WILD. seemed to be making towards him. He was likewise soon espied by those in the vessel, who wanted no sig- nals to inform them of his distress, and, as it was almost a calm, and their course lay within five hundred yards of him, they hoisted out their boat and fetched him- aboard. The captain of this ship was a Frenchman ; she was laden with deal from Norway, and had been extremely shattered in the late storm. This captain was of that kind of men who are actuated by general humanity, and whose compassion can be raised by the distress of a fel- low-creature, though of a nation whose king hath quar- reled with the monarch of their own. He therefore, commiserating the circumstances of Wild, who had dressed up a story proper to impose upon such a silly fellow, told him that, as himself well knew, he must be a prisoner on his arrival in France, but that he would endeavor to procure his redemption ; for which our hero greatly thanked him. But, as they were making very slow sail (for they had lost their mainmast in the storm). Wild saw a little vessel at a distance, they being within a few leagues of the English shore, which, on inquiry, he was informed was probably an English fishing-boat. And, it being then perfectly calm, he proposed that, if they would accommodate him with a pair of scullers, he could get within reach of the boat, at least near enough to make signals to her ; and he preferred any risk to the certain fate of being a prisoner. As his courage was somewhat restored by the provisions (especially brandy) with which the Frenchman had supplied him, he was so earnest in his entreaties, that the captain, after many persuasions, at length complied, and he was furnished with scullers, and with some bread, pork, and a bottle of brandy. Then, taking leave of his preservers, he again betook himself to his boat, and rowed so heartily that he soon came within the sight of the fisherman, who im- mediately made towards him and took him aboard. JONATHAN WILD. 95 No sooner was Wild got safe on board the fisherman than he begged him to make the utmost speed into Deal, for that the vessel which was still in sight was a dis- tressed Frenchman, bound for Havre de Grace, and might easily be made a prize if there was any ship ready to go in pursuit of her. So nobly and greatly did our hero neglect all obligations conferred on him by the enemies of his country, that he would have contributed all he could to the taking his benefactor, to whom he owed both his life and his liberty. The fisherman took his advice, and soon arrived at Deal, where the reader will, I doubt not, be as much con- cerned as Wild was that there was not a single ship prepared to go on the expedition. Our hero now saw himself once more safe on terra flrma, but unluckily at some distance from that city where men of ingenuity can most easily supply their wants without the assistance of money, or rather can most easily procure money for the supply of their wants. However, as his talents were supe- rior to every difficulty, he framed so dexterous an account of his being a merchant, having been taken and plundered by the enemy, and of his great effects in London, that he was not only heartily regaled by the fish- erman at his house, but made so handsome a booty by way of borrowing, a method of taking which we have before mentioned to have his approbation, that he was enabled to provide himself with a place in the stage- coach ; which (as God permitted it to perform the jour- ney) brought him at the appointed time to an inn in the metropolis. And now, reader, as thou canst be in no suspense for the fate of our great man, since we have leturned him safe to the principal scene of his glory, we will a little look back on the fortunes of Mr. Heartfree, whom we left in no very pleasant situation ; but of this we shall treat in the next book. 96 JONATHAN WILD. BOOK III. CHAPTER L The low and pitiful behavior of Heartfree; and the foolish conduct of his apprentice. His misfortunes did not entirelj^ prevent Heartfree from closing his eyes. On the contrary, lie slept several hours the first night of his confinement. However, he perhaps paid too severely dear both for his repose and for a sweet dream which accompanied it, and represented his little family in one of those tender scenes which had frequently passed in the days of his happiness and prosperity, when the provision they were making for the future fortunes of their children used to be one of the most agreeable topics of discourse with which he and his wife entertained themselves. The pleasantness of this vision, therefore, served only, on his awaking, to set forth his present misery with additional horror, and to heighten the dread- ful ideas which now crowded on his mind. He had spent a considerable time after his first rising from the bed, on which he had, without undressing, thrown himself, and now began to wonder at Mrs. Heartfree's long absence ; but as the mind is desirous (and perhaps wisely too) to comfort itself with drawing the most flat- tering conclusions from all events, so he hoped the longer her stay was the more certain was his deliverance. At length his impatience prevailed, and he was just going to despatch a messenger to his own house when his appren- tice came to pay him a visit, and on his inquiry informed him that his wife had departed in company with Mr. Wild many hours before, and had carried all his most valuable effects with her ; adding at the same time that she had herself positi rely acquainted him she had her JONATHAN WILD. 97 husband's express orders for so doing, and that she was gone to Holland. It is the observation of many wise men, who have studied the anatomy of the human soul with more atten- tion than our young physicians generally'' bestow on that of the body, that great and violent surprise hath a differ- ent effect from that which is wrought in a good house- wife by perceiving any disorders in her kitchen ; who, on such occasions, commonly spreads the disorder, not only over her whole family, but over the whole neighborhood. — Now, these great calamities, especially when sudden, tend to stifle and deaden all the faculties, instead of rous- ing them ; and accordingly Herodotus tells us a story of Croesus, king of Lydia, who, on beholding his servants and courtiers led captive, wept bitterly, but, when he saw his wife and children in that condition, stood stupid and motionless ; so stood poor Heartfree on this relation of his apprentice, nothing moving but his color, which en- tirely forsook his countenance. The apprentice, who had not in the least doubted the veracity of his mistress, perceiving the surprise which too visibly appeared in his master, became speechless likewise, and both remained silent some minutes, gazing with astonishment and horror at each other. At last Heartfree cried out in an agony, " My wife deserted me in my misfortunes ! " — " Heaven forbid, sir ! " answered the other. — " And what is become of my poor children ? " replied Heartfree. — "Tiiey are at home, sir," said the apprentice. — " Heaven be praised ! She hath forsaken them too!" cries Heartfree: "fetch them hither this instant. Go, my dear Jack, bring hither my little all which remains now : fly, child, if thou dost not intend likewise to forsake me in my afflictions." The youth answered he would die sooner than entertain such a thought, and, begging his master to be comforted, in- stantly obeyed his orders. Heartfree, the moment the young man was departed, 98 JONATHAN WILD. threw himself on his bed in an agony of despair; but, recollecting' himself after he had vented the first sallies of his passion, he began to question the infidelity of his wife as a matter impossible. He ran over in his thoughts the uninterrupted tenderness which she had always shown him, and, for a minute, blamed the rashness of his belief against her ; till the many circumstances of her having left him so long, and neither writ nor sent to him since her departure with all his effects and with "Wild, of whom ne was not before without suspicion, and, lastly and chiefly, her false pretense to his commands, entirely turned the scale, and convinced him of her disloyalty. While he was in these agitations of mind, tne good ap- prentice, who had used the utmost expedition, brought his children to him. He embraced them with the most passionate fondness, and imprinted numberless kisses on their little lips. The little girl flew to him with almost as much eagerness as he himself expressed at her sight, and cried out, " O papa, why did you not come home to poor mamma all this while ? I thought yon would not have left your little Nancy so long. ' ' After which he asked her for her mother, and was told . she had kissed them both in the morning, and cried very much for his absence. All which brought a flood of tears into the eyes of this weak, silly man, who had not greatness sufficient to con- quer these low efforts of tenderness and humanity. He then proceeded to inquire of the maid-servant, who acquainted him that she knew no more than that her mistress had taken leave of her children in the morning with many tears and kisses, and had recommended them in the most earnest manner to her care ; she said she had promised faithfully to take care of them, and would, while they were intrusted to her, fulfill her promise. For which profession Heartfree expressed much gratitude to her, and, after indulging himself with some little fond- ness, which we shall not relate, he delivered his children into the good woman's hands, and dismissed her. JONATHAN WILD. 99 CHAPTER II. A sohliquy of Heartfree's, full of low and base ideas, without a syU la^le of GREATNESS. Being now alone, he sat some short time silent, and then burst forth into the following soliloquy: — " What shall I do ? Shall I abandon myself to a dis- pirited despair, or fly in the face of the Almighty ? Surely both are unworthy of a wise man; for what can be more vain than weakly to lament my fortune if irre- trievable, or, if hope remains, to offend that Being who can most strongly support it ? but, are my passions then voluntary ! Am I so absolutely their master that I can resolve with myself so far only will I grieve ? Certainly, no. Reason, however, we flatter ourselves, hath not such despotic empire in our minds that it can, with im- perial voice, hush all our sorrow in a moment. Where then is its use ? For either it is an empty sound, and we are deceived in thinking we have reason, or it is given us to some end, and hath a part assigned it by the. all-wise Creator. Why, what can its ofiice be other than justly to weigh the worth of all things, and to direct us to that perfection of human wisdom which proportions our es- teem of every object by its real merit, and prevents us from over or under valuing whatever we hope for, we en- joy, or we lose. It doth not foolishly say to us. Be not glad, or. Be not sorry, which would be as vain and idle as to bid the purling river cease to run, or the waging wind to blow. It prevents us only from exulting, like children, when we receive a toy, or from lamenting when we are deprived of it. Suppose then I have lost the en- joyments of this world, and my expectation of future pleasure and profit is for ever disappointed, what relief can my reason afford ? What, unless it can show me I had fixed my affections on a toy; that what I desired was 100 JONATHAN WILD. not, by a wise man, eagerly to be affected, nor its loss violently deplored ? for there are toys adapted to all ages, from the rattle to the throne; and perhaps the value of all is equal to their several possessors; for if the rattle pleases the ear of the infant what can the flattery of syco- phants give more to the prince ? The latter is as far from examining into the reality and source of his pleasure as the former; for if both did, they must both equally de- spise it. And surely, if we consider them, seriously, and conipare them together, we shall be forced to conclude all those pomps and pleasures of which men are so fond, and which, through so much danger and difficulty, with_ such violence and. villainy, they pursue, to be as worthless trifles as any exposed to sale in a toy shop. I have often noted my little girl viewing with eager eyes a jointed baby; I have marked the pains and solicitations she hath used till I have been prevailed on to indulge her with it. At her flrst obtaining it, what joy hath sparkled in her countenance ! with what raptures hath she taken posses- sion ! but how little satisfaction hath she found in it ! What pains to work out her amusement from it ! Its dress must be varied; the tinsel ornaments which flrst caught her eyes produce no longer, pleasure; she endeav- ors to make it stand and walk in vain, and is constrained herself to supply it with conversation. In a day's time it is thrown by and neglected, and some less costly toy preferred to it. How like the situation of this child is that of every man ! What difiiculties in the pursuit of his desires ! what inanity in the possession of most, and satiety in those which seem more real and substantial 1 The delights of most men are as childish and as super- flcial as that of my little girl; a feather or a flddle are their pursuits and their pleasures through life, even to their ripest years, if such men may be said to attain any ripeness at all. But let us survey those whose under- standings are of a more elevated and refined temper; how empty do they soon And the world of enjoyments worth JONATHAN WILD. 101 their desire or attaining ! How soon do they retreat to solitude and contemplation, to gardening and planting, and such rural amusements, where their trees and they enjoy the air and the sun in common, and both vegetate with very little difference between them. But suppose, (which neither truth nor wisdom will allow) we could ad- mit something more valuable and substantial in these blessings, would not the uncertainty of their possession be alone sufficient to lower their price ? How mean a tenure is that at the will of fortune, which chance, fraud, and rapine are every day so likely to deprive us of, and often the more likely by how much the greater worth our possessions are off ! Is it not to place our affections on a bubble in the water, or on a picture in the clouds ? "What mad man would build a fine house or frame a beautiful garden on land in which he held so uncertain an interest? Butagain, was all this less undeniable, did Fortune, the lady of our manor, lease to us for our lives, of how little consideration must even this term appear ! For, admit- ting that these pleasures were not liable to be torn from us, how certainly must we be torn from them ! Perhaps to-morrow — nay or even sooner; for asthe excellent poet says — Where is to-morrow ? — In. the other world. To thousands this is true, and the reverse Is sure to none. But if I have no further hope in this world, can I have none beyond it? Surely those laborious writers, who have taken such infinite pains to destroy or weaken all the proofs of futurity, have not so far succeeded as to exclude us from hope. That active principle in man which with such boldness pushes us on through every labor and difficulty, to attain the most distant and most improbable event in this world, will not surely deny us a little flat- tering prospect of those beautiful mansions which, if thej' could be thought chimerical, must be allowed the loveliest which can entertain the eye of man; and to which the road, if we understand it rightly, appears to have so few thorns 102 JONATHAN WILD. and briars in it, and to require so little labor and fatigue from those who shall pass through it, that its ways are truly said to be ways of pleasantness, and all its paths to be those of peace. If the proofs of Christianity be as strong as I imagine them, surely enough may be deduced from that ground only to comfort and support the most miserable man in his afflictions. And this I think my reason tells me that, if the professors and propagators of infidelity are in the right, the losses which death brings to the virtuous are not worth their lamenting ; but if these are, as certainly they seem, in the wrong, the blessings it procures them are not sufficiently to be coveted and rejoiced at. " On my own account then, I have no cause for sorrow, but on my children's ! — Why the same Being to whose goodness and power I intrust my own happiness is like- wise as able and willing to procure theirs. Nor matters it what state of life is allotted for them, whether it be their fate to procure bread with their own labor, or to eat it at the sweat of others. Perhaps, if we consider the case with proper attention, or resolve it with due sincerity, the former is much the sweeter. The hind may be more happy than the lord, for his desires are fewer, and those such as are attended with more hope and less fear. I will do my utmost to lay the foundations of my children's happiness ; I will carefully avoid educating them in a station superior to their fortune, and for the event trust to that Being in whom whoever rightly confides must be superior to all worldly sorrows." In this low manner did this poor wretch proceed to argue, till he had worked himself up into an enthusiasm which by degrees soon became invulnerable to every human attack ; so that when Mr. Snap acquainted him with the return of the writ, and that he must carry him to Newgate, he received the message as Socrates did the news of the ship's arrival, and that he was to prepare for death. JONATHAN WILD. 103 CHAPTER III. Wherein our hero proceeds in the road to greatness. But we must not detain our reader too long with these low characters. He is doubtless as impatient as the audience at the theatre till the principal figure returns on the stage ; we will therefore indulge his inclination, and pursue the actions of the Great Wild. There happened to be in the stage coach in which Mr, "Wild traveled from Dover a certain young gentleman who had sold an estate in Kent, and was going to London to receive the money. There was likewise a handsome young woman who had left her parents at Canterbury, and was proceeding to the same city, in order (as she informed her fellow-travelers) to make her fortune. With this girl the young spark was so much enamored that he pubhcly acquainted her with the purpose of his journey, and offered her a considerable sum in hand and a settlement if she would consent to return with him into the country, where she would be at a safe distance from her relations. Whether she accepted this proposal or no we are not able with any tolerable certainty to deliver : but Wild, the moment he heard of his money, began to cast about in his mind by what means he might become master of it. He entered into a long harangue about the methods of car- rying money safely on the road, and said, he had at that time two bank biUs of a hundred pounds each sewed in his coat ; " which," added he, " is so safe a way, that it is almost impossible I should be in any danger of being robbed by the most cunning highwayman." The young gentleman, who was no descendant of Solo- mon, or, if he was, did not any more than some other descendants of wise men, inherit the wisdom of his ances- tor, greatly approved Wild's ingenuity, and, thanking him for his information, declared he would follow his 104 JONATHAN WILD. example when lie returned into the country ; hy which means he proposed to save the premium commonly taken for the remittance. Wild had then no more to do but tol inform himself rightly of the time of the gentle- mkn's journey, which he did with great certainty before they separated. At his arrival in town he fixed on two whom he re- garded as the most resolute of his gang for this enter- prise ; and, accordingly, having summoned the principal, or most desperate, as he imagined him, of these two (for he never eh ose to communicate in the presence of more than one), he proposed to him the robbing and murdering of this gentleman. Mr. Marybone (for that was the gentleman's name to whom he applied) readily agreed to the robbery, but he hesitated at the murder. He said, as to robbery, he had, on much weighing and considering the matter, very well reconciled his conscience to it; for, though that noble kind of robbery which was executed on the high- way was, from the cowardice of mankind, less frequent, yet the baser and meaner species, sometimes called cheat- ing, but more commonly known by the name of robbery within the law, was in a manner universal. He did not therefore pretend to the reputation of being so much honester than other people ; but could by no means satisfy himself in the commission of murder, which was a sin of the most heinous nature, and so immediately prosecuted by God's judgment that it never passed undiscovered or unpunished. Wild, with the utmost disdain in his countenance, an- swered as foUows : " Art thou he whom I have selected out of my whole gang for this glorious undertaking, and dost thou cant of God's revenge against murder ? You have, it seems, reconciled your conscience (a pretty word) to robbery from its being so common. It is then the novelty of murder which deters you ? Do you imagine that guns, and pistols, and swords, and knives are the JONATHAN WILD. 105 only instruments of death ? Look into the world and see the numbers whom broken fortunes and broken heartsi bring untimely to the grave. To omit those glorious heroes who, to their immortal honor, have massacred, whole nations, what think you of private persecution, treachery, and slander, by which the very souls of men are in a manner torn from their bodies ? Is it not more generous, nay, more good-natured, to send a man to his rest, than, after having plundered him of all he hath, or from malice or malevolence deprived him of his charac- ter, to punish him with a languishing death, or, what is worse, a languishing life ? Murder, therefore, is not so uncommon as you weakly conceive it, though, as you said of robbery, that more noble kind which lies within the paw of the law may be so. But this is the most innocent in him who doth it, and the most eligible to him who is to suffer it. Believe me, lad, the tongue of a viper is less hurtful than that of a slanderer, and the gilded scales of a rattlesnake less dreadful than the pulse of the oppressor. Let me therefore hear no more of your scruples ; but con- sent to my proposal without further hesitation, unless, like a woman, you are afraid of blooding your clothes, or, Uke a fool, are terrified with the apprehensions of being hanged in chains. Take my word for it, you had better be an honest man than half a rogue. Do not think of continuing in my gang without abandoning yourself ab- solutely to my pleasure ; for no man shall ever receive a favor at my hands who sticks at anything, or is guided by any other law than that of my will." Wild thus ended his speech, which had not the desired effect on Marybone ; he agreed to the robbery, but would not undertake the murder, as Wild (who feared that, by Marybone's demanding to search the gentleman's coat, he might hazard suspicion himself) insisted. Marybone was immediately entered by WUd in his black-book, and was presently after impeached and executed as a fellow on whom his leader could not place sufficient dependence ; 106 JONATHAN WILD. 'uliTis falling, as many rogues do, a sacrifice, not to Ms roguery, but to Ms conscience. CHAPTER IV. In which a young hero, of wonderful good promise, makes his first appea/rairhce, with many other obbat matters. OuK hero next applied Mmself to another of Ms gang, ■who instantly received Ms orders, and, instead of hesi- tating at a single murder, asked if he should blow out the brains of all the passengers, coachman and all. But Wild, whose moderation we have before noted, would not permit him ; and therefore, having given him an exact description of the devoted person, with his other necessary instructions, he dismissed him, with the strict- est orders to avoid, if possible, doing hurt to any other person. The name of this youth, who will hereafter make some figure in this history, being the Achates of our JEneas, or rather the Hsephestion of our Alexander, was Fire- blood. He had every qualification to make a second- rate GREAT man ; or, in other words, he was completely equipped for the tool of a real or first-rate great man. We shall therefore (which is the properest way of deal- ing with this kind of greatness) describe him nega- tively, and content ourselves with telling our reader what qualities he had not ; in which number were humanity, modesty, and fear, not one grain of any of which was mingled in his whole composition. We will now leave this youth, who was esteemed the most promising of the whole gang, and whom Wild often declared to be one of the prettiest lads he had ever seen, of which opinion, indeed, were most other people of Ms acquaintance; we will however leave him at his entrance on this enterprise, and keep our attention fixed on oui- JONATHAN WILD. 161 hero, whom we shall observe taking large strides towards the summit of human glory. Wild, immediately at his return "to town, went to pay a visit to Miss Laetitia Snap; for he had that weakness of suffering himself to be enslaved by women, so naturally incident to men of heroic disposition, to say the truth, it might more properly be called a slavery to his own appe- tite; for, could he have satisfied that, he had not cared three farthings what had become of the little tyrant for whom he professed so violent a regard. Here he was in- formed that Mr. Heartfree had been conveyed to New- gate the day before, the writ being then returnable. He was somewhat concerned at this news; not from any compassion for the misfortunes of Heartfree, whom he hated with such inveteracy that one would have imagined he had suffered the same injuries from him which he had done towards him. His concern therefore had another motive; in fact, he was uneasy at the place of Mr. Heart- free's confinement, as it was to be the scene of his future glory, and where consequently he should be frequently obliged to see a face which hatred, and not shame, made him detest the sight of. To prevent this, therefore, several methods suggested themselves to him. At first he thought of removing him out of the way by the ordinary method of murder, which he doubted not but Fireblood would be very ready to exe- cute; for that youth had, at their last interview, sworn, D — n his eyes, he thought there was no better pastime than blowing a man's brains out. But, besides the danger of this method, it did not look horrible nor barbarous enough for the last mischief which he should do to Heart- free. Considering, therefore, a little farther with him- self, he at length came to a resolution to hang him, if possible, the very next sessions. Now, though the observation — how apt men are to hate those they injure, or how unforgiving they are of the in- juries they do themselves — be common enough, yet I do W— 8 108 JONATHAN WILD. not remember to have ever seen the reason of this strange phenomenon as at first it appears. Know there- fore, reader, that with much and severe scrutiny we have discovered this hatred to be founded on the passion of fear, and to arise from an apprehension that the person whom we liave ourselves greatly injured will use all pos- sible endeavors to revenge and retaliate the injuries we have done him. An opinion so firmly established in bad and great minds (and those who confer injuries on others have seldom very good or mean ones) that no benevo- lence, nor even beneficence^ on the injured side, can eradi- cate it. On the contrary, they refer all these acts of kindness to imposture and design of lulling their suspi- cion, till an opportunity offers of striking a surer and severer blow; and thus, while the good man who hath received it hath truly forgotten the injury, the evil mind which did it hath it in lively and fresh remembrance. As we scorn to keep any discoveries secret from our readers, whose instruction, as well as diversion, we have greatly considered in this history, we have here digressed somewhat to communicate the following short lesson to those who are simple and well inclined: though as a Christian thou art obliged, and we advise thee, to forgive thy enemy, never trust the man who hath reason to SUSPECT THAT YOU KNOW HE HATH INJURED YOU. CHAPTER V. More and more greatness, unparalleled in history or romance. ■ In order to accomplish this great and noble scheme, which the vast genius of Wild had contrived, the first necessary step was to regain the confidence of Heartfree. But, however necessary this was, it seemed to be attended with such insurmountable difficulties, that even our hero for some time despaired of success. He was greatly superior to all mankind in the steadiness of his JONATHAN WILD. 109 countenance, but this undertaking- seemed to require more of that noble quality than had ever been the portion of a mortal. However, at last he resolved to attempt it, and from his success I think we may fairly assert that what was said by the Latin poet of labor, that it conquers all things, is much more true when applied to im- pudence. When he had formed his plan he when to Newgate, and burst resolutely into the presence of Heartfree, whom he eagerly embraced and kissed ; and then, first arraigning his own rashness, and afterwards lamenting his unfor- tunate want of success, he acquainted him with the particulars of what had happened ; concealing only that single incident of his attack on the other's wife, and his motive to the undertaking, which, he assured Heartfree, was a desire to preserve his effects from a statute of bankruptcy. The frank openness of this declaration, with the com- posure of countenance with which it was delivered ; his seeming only ruffled by the concern for his friend's mis- fortune ; the probability of truth attending it, joined to the boldness and disinterested appearance of this visit, together with his many professions of immediate service at a time when he could not have the least visible motive from self-love ; and above all, his offering him money, the last and surest token of friendship, rushed with such united force on the well-disposed heart, as it is vulgarly called, of this simple man, that they instantly staggered and soon subverted all the determination he had before made in prejudice of Wild, who, perceiving the balance to be turning in his favor, presently threw in a hundred imprecations on his own folly and ill-advised forwardness to serve his friend, which had thus unhappily produced his ruin ; he added as many curses on the count, whom he vowed to pursue with revenge all over Europe ; lastly, he cast in some grains of comfort, assuring Heartfree that his wife was fallen into the gentlest hands, that she 110 JOISTATHAN WILD. would be cprried no farther than Dunkirk, whence she might very easily be redeemed. Heartfree, to whom the lightest presumption of his wife's fidelity would have been more delicious than the absolute restoration of all his jewels, and who, indeed, had with the utmost difficulty been brought to entertain the slightest suspicion of her inconstancy, immediately abandoned all distrust of both her and his friend, whose sincerity (luckily for Wild's purpose) seemed to him to depend on the same evidence. He then embraced our hero, who had in his countenance all the symptoms of the deepest concern, and begged him to be comforted ; saying that the intentions, rather than the actions of men, con- ferred obligations ; that as to the event of human affairs, it was governed either by chance or some superior agent ; that friendship was concerned only in the direc- tion of our designs ; and suppose these failed of success, or produced an event never so contrary to their aim, the merit of a good intention was not in the least lessened, but was rather entitled to compassion. Heartfree however was soon curious enough to inquire how Wild had escaped the captivity which his wife then suffered. Here likewise he recounted the whole truth, omitting only the motive to the French captain's cruelty, for which he assigned a very different reason, namely, his attempt to secure Heartfree's jewels. Wild indeed always kept as much truth as was possible in every- thing ; and this he said was. turning the cannon of the enemy upon themselves. Wild, having thus with admirable and truly laudable conduct achieved the first step, began to discourse on the badness of the world, and particularly to blame the severity of creditors, who seldom or never attend to any unfortunate circumstances, but without mercy inflicted confinement on the debtor, whose body the law, with very unjustifiable rigor, delivered into their power. He added, that for his part, be looked on this restraint to be as JONATHAN WILD. Ill heavy a punishment as any appointed by law for the greatest offenders. That the loss of liberty was, in his opinion, equal to, if not worse than, the loss of life ; that he had always determined, if by any accident or mis- fortune he had been subjected to the former, he would run the greatest risk of the latter to rescue himself from it ; which, he said, if men did not want resolution, was always enough ; for that it was ridiculous to conceive that two or three men could confine two or three hundred, unless the prisoners were either fools or cowards, especi- ally when they were neither chained nor fettered. He went on in this manner till, perceiving the utmost atten- tion in Heartfree, he ventured to propose to him an en- deavor to make his escape, which he said might easily be executed; that he would himself raise a party in the prison, and that, if a murder or two should happen in the attempt, he (Heartfree) might keep free from any share either in the guilt or in the danger. There is one misfortune which attends all great men and their schemes, viz. — that, in order to carry them into execution, they are obliged, in proposing their purpose to their tools, to discover themselves to be of that disposi- tion in which certain little writers have advised mankind to place no confidence ; an advice which hath been some- times taken. Indeed, many inconveniences arise to the said great men from these scribblers publishing without restraint their hints or alarms to society; and many great and glorious schemes have been thus frustrated ; wherefore it were to be wished that in all well-regulated governments such liberties should be by some wholesome laws restrained, and all writers inhibited from venting any other instructions to the people than what should be first approved and licensed by the said great men, or their proper instruments or tools ; by which means noth- ing would ever be published but what made for the ad- vancing their most noble projects. Heartfree, whose suspicions were again raised by this 112 JOKATHAN WILD. advice, viewing Wild with inconceivable disdain, spoke as follows: "There is one thing the loss of which I should deplore infinitely beyond that of liberty and of life also ; I mean that of a good conscience ; a blessing which he who possesses can never be thoroughly un- happy; for the bitterest portion of life is by this so sweetened, that it soon becomes palatable ; whereas, without it, the most delicate enjoyments quickly lose all their relish, and life itself grows insipid, or rather nauseous, to us. Would you then lessen my misfortunes by robbing me of what hath been my only comfort under them, and on which I place my dependence of being re- lieved from them ? I have read that Socrates refused to save his life by breaking the laws of his country, and de- parting from his prison when it was open. Perhaps my virtue would not go so far ; but Heaven forbid liberty should have such charms to tempt me to the perpetration of so horrid a crime as murder ! As to the poor evasion of committing it by other hands, it might be useful indeed to those who seek only the escape from temporal punish- ment, but can be of no service to excuse me to that Being whom I chiefly fear offending ; nay, it would greatly ag- gravate my guilt by so impudent an endeavor to impose upon Him, and by so wickedly involving others in my crime. Give me, therefore, no more advice of this kind ; for this is my great comfort in all my afflictions, that it is in the power of no enemy to rob me of my conscience, nor will I ever be so much my own enemy as to injure it." Though our hero heard all this with proper contempt, he made no direct answer, but endeavored to evade his proposal as much as possible, which he did with admira- ble dexterity : this method of getting tolerably well off, when you are repulsed in your attack on a man's con- science, may be styled the art of retreating, in which the pohtician, as well as the general, hath sometimes a won- derful opportunity of displaying his great abilities in liis profession. JONATHAN WILD. 113 Wild having' made this admirable retreat, and argued away all design of involving his friend in the guilt of mur- der, concluded, however, that he thought him rather too scrupulous in not attempting his escape; and then, prom- ising to use all such means as the other would permit in his service, took his leave for the present. Heartfree, having indulged himself an hour with his children, re- paired to rest, which he enjoyed quiet and undisturbed; whilst Wild, disdaining repose, sat up all night, consult- ing how he might bring about the final destruction of his friend without being beholden to any assistance from himself, which he now despaired of procuring. With the result of these consultations we shall acquaint our reader in good time, but at present we have matters of much more consequence to relate to him. CHAPTER VI. The event of Fireblood's adventure; and a treaty of marriage, which might have been concluded either at Smithfield or St. James's. FiEEBLOOD returned from his enterprise unsuccessful. The gentleman happened to go home another way than he had intended ; so that the whole design miscarried. Fireblood had indeed robbed the coach, and had wantonly discharged a pistol into it, which slightly wounded one of the passengers in the arm. The booty he met with was not very considerable, though much greater than that with which he acquainted Wild; for of eleven pounds in money, two silver watches, and a wedding-ring, he pro- duced no more than two guineas and the ring, which he protested with numberless oaths was his whole booty. However, when an advertisement of the robbery was pub- lished, with a reward promised for the ring and the watches, Fireblood was obliged to confess the whole, and to acquaint our hero where he had pawned the watchesj 114 JONATHAN WILD. whicli Wild, taking the full value of them for his pains, restored to the right owner. He did not faU catechising his young friend on this occasion. He said he was sorry to see any of his gang guilty of a breach of honor; that without honor priggery was at an end; that if a pri'gf had but honor he would over- look every vice in the world. "But, nevertheless," said he, "I will forgive you this time, as you are a hopeful lad, and I hope never afterwards to find you delinquent in this great point." Wild had now brought his gang to great regularity: he was obeyed and feared by them all. He had likewise established an office where all men who were robbed, pay- ing the value only (or a little more) of their goods, might have them again. This was of notable use to several per- srns who had lost pieces of plate they had received from their grandmothers; to others who had a particular value for certain rings, watches, heads of canes, snuff-boxes, &c., for which they would not have taken twenty times as much as they were worth, either because they had them a little while or a long time, or that somebody else had had them before, or from some other such excellent rea- son, which often stamps a greater value on a toy than the great Bubble-boy himself would have the impudence to set upon it. By these means he seemed in so promising a way of procuring a fortune, and was regarded in so thriving a light by all the gentlemen of his acquaintance, as by the keeper and turnkeys of Newgate, by Mr. Snap, and others of his occupation, that Mr. Snap one daj^, taking Mr. Wild the elder aside, very seriously proposed what they had often lightly talked over, a strict union between their [amilies, by marrymg his daughter Tishy to our hero. This proposal was very readily accepted by the old gentleman, who promised to acquaint his son with it. On the morrow on which this message was to be deliv- ered, our hero, little dreaming of the happiness which, of JONATHAN WILD. 115 his own accord, was advancing so near towards him, had called Fireblood to him ; and, after informmg that youth of the violence of his passion for the young- lady, and as- suring him what confidence he reposed in him and his honor, he despatched him to Miss Tishy with the follow- ing letter ; which we here insert, not only as we take it to he extremely curious, but to be a much better pattern for that epistolary kind of writing which is generally called love-letters than any to be found in the academy of com- pliments, and which we challenge all the beaux of our time to excel either in matter or spelling. Most deivine and adwhorablb crebtxjee, — I doubt not but those lis, briter than the son, which have kindled such a flam in my hart, have likewise the faculty of seeing it. It would be the hiest preassumption to imagin you eggnorant of my loav. No, madam, I soUemly purtest, that of all the butys in the unaversal glob, there ia none kapable of hateracting my Us like you. Corts and pallaces would be to me deserts without your kumpany, and with it a wilderness would have more charms than haven itself. For I hop you will beleve me when I sware every every place in the universe is a haven with you. I am konvinced you must be sinsibel of my violent passion for you, wMch, if I en- devored to hid it, would be as impossible as for you, or the son, to hid your buty's. I assure you I have not slept a wink since I had the happiness of seeing you last ; therefore hop you will, out of Kumpassion, let me have the honor of seeing you this aftemune ; for I am, with [the greatest adwhoration, most deivine creeture, your most passionate amirerj ad whore r, and slave, Jonathan Wyld. If the spelling of this letter be not so strictly ortho- graphical, the reader will be pleased to remember that such a defect might be worthy of censure in a low and scholastic character, but can be no blemish in that sub- lime greatness of which we endeavor to raise a complete idea in this history. In which kind of composition spell- ing, or indeed any kind of hum.an literature, hath never been thought a necessary ingredient ; for if these sort of great personages can but complot and contrive their no- ble schemes, and hack and hew mankind sufficiently. 116 JONATHAN WILD. there will never be wanting fit and able persons who can spell to record their praises. Again, if it should be ob- served that the style of this letter doth not exactly cor- respond with that of our hero's speeches which we have here recorded, we answer, it is suflEicient if in these the historian adheres faithfully to the matter, though he em- bellishes the diction with some flourishes of his own elo- quence, without which the excellent speeches recorded in ancient historians (particularly in Sallust) would have scarce been found in their writings. Nay, even amongst the moderns, famous as they are for elocution, it may be doubted whether those inimitable harangues published in the monthly magazines came literally from the mouths of the Htjrgos, &c., as they are there inserted, or whether we may not rather suppose some historian of great elo- quence hath borrowed the matter only, and adorned it with those rhetorical flowers for which many of the said HUBaos are not so extremely eminent. CHAPTER VII. Matters preliminary to the marriage between Mr. Jonathan WUd and the chaste Loetitia. But to proceed with our history ; Fireblood, having re- ceived this letter, and promised on his honor, with many voluntary asseverations, to discharge the embassy faith- fully, went to visit the fair Lsetitia. The lady, having opened the letter and read it, put on an air of disdain, and told Mr. Fireblood she could not conceive what Mr. Wild meant by troubling her with his impertinence ; she begged him to carry the letter back again, sajing, had she known from whom it came, she would have been d — d before she had opened it. " But with you, young gentle- man," says she, " I am not in the least angry. I am father sorry that so pretty a young man should be em- JONATHAN WILD. 117 ployed in such anerrand." She accompanied these words with so tender an accent and so wanton a leer, that Fire- blood, who was no backward youth, began to take her by the hand, and proceeded so warmly, that, to imitate his actions with the rapidity of our narration, he in a few minutes ravished this fair creature, or at least would have ravished her, if she had not, by a timely compliance, prevented him. Fireblood, after he had ravished as much as he could, returned to Wild, and acquainted him, as far as any wise man would, with what had passed ; concluding with many praises of the young lady's beauty, with whom, he said, if his honor would have permitted him, he should himself have fallen in love ; but, d — n him if he would not sooner be torn in pieces by wild horses than even think of injur- ing his friend. He asserted mdeed, and swore so heartily, that, had not Wild been so thoroughly convinced of the impregnable chastity of the lady, he might have suspect- ed his success ; however, he was, by these means, entire- ly satisfied of his friend's inclination towards his mistress. Thus constituted were the love affairs of our hero when his father brought him Mr. Snap's proposal. The reader must know very little of love, or indeed of anything else, if he requires any information concerning the reception which this proposal met with. Not guilty never sounded sweeter in the ears of a prisoner at the bar, nor the sound of a reprieve to one at the gallows, than did every word of the old gentleman in the ears of our hero. He gave his father full power to treat in his name, and desired nothing more than expedition. The old people now met, and Snap, who had informa- tion from his daughter of the violent passion of her lover, endeavored to improve it to the best advantage, and would have not only declined giving her any fortune him- self, but have attempted to cheat her of what she owed to the liberality of her relations, particularly of a pint silver caudle-cup, the gift of her grandmother. How 118 JONATHAN WILD. ever, in this the young lady herself afterwards took care to prevent him. As to the old Mr. Wild, he did not suf- ficiently attend to all the designs of Snap, as his faculties were busily employed in designs of his own, to overreach (or, as others express it, to cheat) the said Mr. Snap, by pretending to give his son a whole number for a chair, when in reality he was entitled to a third only. While matters were thus settling between the old folks, the young lady agreed to admit Mr. Wild's visits, and, by degrees, began to entertain him with all the show of affection which the great natural reserve of her temper, and the great artificial reserve of her education, would permit. At length, everything being agreed between the parents, settlements made, and the lady's fortune (to wit, seventeen pounds and nine shillings in money and goods) paid down, the day for their nuptials was fixed, and they were celebrated accordmgly. Most private histories, as well as comedies, end at this period ; the historian and the poet both concluding they have done enough for their hero when they have married him ; or intimating rather that the rest of his life must be a dull calm of happiness, very delightful indeed to pass through, but somewhat insipid to relate ; and matrimony in general must, I believe, without any dispute, be al- lowed to be this state of tranquil felicity, including so little variety, that, like Salisbury Plain, it affords only one prospect, a very pleasant one it must be confessed, but the same. Now there was all the probability imaginable that this contract would have proved of such happy note, both from the great accomplishments of the young lady, who was thought to be possessed of every qualification neces- sary to make the marriage state happy, and from the truly ardent passion of Mr. Wild ; but, whether it was that nature and fortune had great designs for him to ex- ecute, and would not suffer his vast abilities to be lost and sunk in the arms of a wife^ or whether neither nature JONATHAN WILD. 119 nor fortune had any hand in the matter, is a point I will not determine. Certain it is that this match did not pro- duce that serene state we have mentioned above, but re- sembled the most turbulent and ruffled, rather than the most calm, sea. I cannot here omit a conjecture, ingenious enough, of a friend of mine, who had a long intimacy in the Wild family. He hath often told me he fancied one reason of the dissatisfactions which afterwards fell out between Wild and his lady arose from the number of gallants to whom she had, before marriage, granted favors; for, says he, and indeed very probable it is, too, the lady might expect from her husband what she had before re- ceived from several, and, being angry not to find one man as good as ten, she had, from that indignation, taken those steps which we cannot perfectly justify. From this person I received the following dialogue, which he assured me he had overheard and taken down verbatim. It passed on the day fortnight after they were married. CHAPTER VIII. A dialogue matrimonial, which passed between Jonathan Wild, esq., and Loetitia his wife, on the morning of the day fortnight on which his nuptials were celebrated ; which concluded more ami. cablythan those debates generally do. Jonathan. My dear, I wish you would lie a little longer in bed this morning. Loetitia. Indeed I cannot; I am engaged to breakfast with Jack Strongbow. Jonathan. I don't know what Jack Strongbow doth so often at my house. I assure you I am uneasy at it ; for, though I have no suspicion of your virtue, yet it may in- jure your reputation in the opinion of my neighbors. 120 JONATHAN WILD. Lcetitia. I don't trouble my head about my neighbors ; and they shall no more tell me what company I am to keep than my husband shall. Jonathan. A good wife would keep no company which made her husband uneasy. Lcetitia. You might have found one of those good wives, sir, if you had pleased ; I had no objection to it. Jonathan. I thought I had found one in you. Lcetitia. You did ! I am very much obliged to you for thinking me so poor-spirited a creature ; but I hope to convince you to the contrary. What, I suppose you took me for a raw senseless girl, who knew nothing what other married women do ! Jonathan. No matter what I took you for; I have taken you for better or worse. Lcetitia. And at your own desire too ; for I am sure you never had mine. I should not have broken my heart if Mr. Wild had thought proper to bestow himself on any other more happy woman. Ha, ha ! Jonathan. I hope, madam, you don't imagine that was not in my power, or that I married you out of any kind of necessity. Lcetitia. O no, sir ; I am convinced there are silly women enough. And far be it from me to accuse you of any necessity for a wife. I believe you could have been very well contented with the state of a bacnelor ; I have no reason to complain of your necessities ; but that, you know, a woman cannot tell beforehand. Jonathan. I can't guess what you would insinuate, for I believe no woman had ever less reason to complain of her husband's want of fondness. Lcetitia. Then some, I am certain, have great reason to complain of the price they give for them. But I know better things. {These words were spoken with a very great air, and toss of the head.) Jonathan. Well, my sweeting, 1 will make it impossi- ble for you to wish me more fond. JONATHAN WILD. 121 Lcetitia. Pray, Mr. Wild, none of this nauseous beha- vior, nor those odious words. I wish you were fond ! I assure you, I don't know what you would pretend to in- sinuate of me. I have no wishes which misbecome a vir- tuous woman. No, nor should not, if I had married for love. And especially now, when nobody, I am sure, can suspect me of any such thing. Jonathan. If you did not marry for love why did you marry ? Lcetitia. Because it was convenient, and my parents forced me. Jonathan. I hope, madam, at least, you will not tell me to my face you have made your convenience of me. Lcetitia. I have made nothing of you ; nor do I desire the honor of making anything of you. Jonathan. Yes, you have made a husband of me. Lcetitia. No, you made yourself so ; for I repeat once more it was not my desire, but your own. Jonathan. You should think yourself obliged to me for that desire. Lcetitia. La, sir ! you was not so singular in it. I was not in despair. I have had other offers, and better too. Jonathan. I wish you had accepted them with all my heart. Lcetitia. I must tell you, Mr. Wild, this is a very brutish manner of treating a woman to whom you have such obligations ; but I know how to despise it, and to despise you too for showing it me. Indeed I am well enough paid for the foolish preference I gave to you. I flattered myself that I should at least have been used with good manners. I thought I had married a gentle- man ; but I find you every way contemptible and below my concern. Jonathan. D — n you, madam, have I not more reason to complain when you tell me you married me for your convenience only ? Lcetitia. Very fine truly. Is it behavior worthy a 122 JONATHAN WILD. man to swear at a woman ? Yet why should I mention what comes from a wretch whom I despise? Jonathan. Don't repeat that word so often. I despise you as heartily as you can me. And, to tell you a truth, I married you for my convenience likewise, to satisfy a passion which I have now satisfied, and you may he d — d for anything I care. Lcetitia. The world shall know how barbarously I am treated by such a villain. Jonathan. I need take very little pains to acquaint the world what a b — ch you are, your actions will demon- strate it. Lcetitia. Monster ! I would advise you not to depend too much on my sex, and provoke me too far , for I can do you a mischief, and will, if you dare use me so, you vil- lain ! Jonathan. Begin whenever you please, madam; but assure yourself, the moment you lay aside the woman, I will treat you as such no longer ; and if the first blow is yours, I promise you the last shall be mine. Lcetitia. Use me as you will ; but d — n me if ever you shall use me as a woman again ; for may I be cursed if ever I enter into your bed more. Jonathan. May I De cursed if that abstinence be not the greatest obligation j^ou can lay upon me ; for I as- sure you faithfully your person was all I had ever any regard for ; and that I now loathe and detest as much as ever I liked it. Lcetitia. It is impossible for two people to agree better ; for I always detested your person ; and as for any other regard, you must be convinced I never could have any for you. Jonathan. Why, then, since we come to a right under- standing, as we are to live together, suppose we agreed, instead of quarrelling and abusing, to be civil to each other. Lcetitia. With all iny heart. JONATHAN WILD. 133 Jonathan. Let us shake hands then, and henceforwards never live like man and wife ; that is, never be loving nor ever quarrel. Lcetitia. Agreed. But pray, Mr. Wild, why b — ch? Why did you suffer such a word to escape you ? Jonathan. It is not worth your remembrance. Lcetitia. You agree T shall converse with whomso- ever I please ? Jonathan. Without control. And I have the same liberty ? Lcetitia. When I interfere may every curse you can wish attend me ! Jonathan. Let us now take a farewell kiss, and may I be hanged if is not the sweetest you ever gave me. Lcetitia. But why b — ch ? Methinks I should be glad to know why b — ch ? At which words he sprang from the bed, d — ing her temper heartily. She returned it again with equal abuse, which was continued on both sides whUe he was dressing. However, they agreed to continue steadfast in this new resolution ; and the joy arising on that occasion at length dismissed them pretty cheerfully from each other, though Laetitia could not help concluding with the words, why b— ch? CHAPTER IX. Observations on the foregoing dialogue, together with a base design on our hero, which must be detested by every lover of greatness. Thus did this dialogue (which, though we have termed it matrimonial, had indeed very little savor of the sweets of matrimony in it) produce at last a resolution more wise than strictly pious, and which, if they could have rigidly adhered to it, might have prevented some un- pleasant moments as well to our hero as to his serene con- sort ; but their hatred was so very great and unaccount- W— 9 124 JONATHAN WILD. able that they never could bear to see the least composure in one another's countenance without attempting to rutlie it. This set them on so many contrivances to plague and vex one another, that, as their proximity afforded them such frequent opportunities of executing their malicious purposes, they seldom passed one easy or quiet day to- gether. And this, reader, and no other, is the cause of those many inquietudes which thou must have observed to dis- turb the repose of some married couples who mistake implacable hatred for indifference ; for why should Cor- vinus, who lives in a round of intrigue, and seldom doth, and never willingly would, dally with his wife, endeavor to prevent her from the satisfaction of an intrigue in her turn ? Why doth Camilla refuse a more agreeable invi- tation abroad, only to expose her husband at his own table at home ? In short, to mention no more instances, whence can all the quarrels, and jealousies, and jars pro- ceed in people who have no love for each other, unless from that noble passion above mentioned, that desire, according to my lady Betty Modish, of curing each other of a smile. We thought proper to give our reader a short taste of the domestic state of our hero, the rather to show him that great men are subject to the same frailties and incon- veniences in ordinary life with Uttle men, and that heroes are really of the same species with other human crea- tures, notwithstanding all the pains they themselves or their flatterers take to assert the contrary ; and that they differ chiefly in the immensity of their greatness, or, as the vulgar erroneously call it, villainy. Now, there- fore, that we may not dwell too long on low scenes in a history of the sublime kind, we shall return to actions of a higher note and more suitable to our purpose. When the boy Hymen had, with his lighted torch, driven the boy Cupid out of doors, that is to say, in com- mon phrase, when the violence of Mr. Wild's passion (oi JONATHAN WILD. 125 rather appetite) for the chaste Lastitia began to abate, he returned to visit his friend Heartfree, who was now ia the liberties of the Fleet, and had appeared to the com- mission of bankruptcy against him. Here he met with a more cold reception than he himself had apprehended. Heartfree had long entertained suspicions of Wild, but these suspicions had from time to time been confounded with circumstances, and principally smothered with that amazing confidence which was indeed the most striking virtue in our hero. Heartfree was unwilUng to condemn his friend without certain evidence, and laid hold on every probable semblance to acquit him ; but the proposal made at his last visit had so totally blackened his character in this poor man's opinion, that it entirely fixed the waver- ing scale, and he no longer doubted but that our hero was one of the greatest villains in the world. Circumstances of great improbability often escape men who devour a story with greedy ears ; the reader, there- fore, cannot wonder that Heartfree, whose passions were so variously concerned, first for the fidelity, and secondly for the safety of his wife ; and, lastly, who was so dis- tracted with doubt concerning the conduct of Ms friend, should at this relation pass unobserved the incident of his being committed to the boat by the captain of the priva- teer, which he had at the time of his telling so lamely accounted for ; but now, when Heartfree came to reflect on the whole and with a high prepossession against Wild, the absurdity of this fact glared in his eyes and struck him in the most sensible manner. At length a thought of great horror suggested itself to his imagination, and this was, whether the whole was not a fiction, and Wild, who was, as he had learned from his own mouth, equal to any undertaking, how black soever, had not spirited away, robbed, and murdered his wife. Intolerable as this apprehension was, he not only turned it round and examined it carefully in his own mind, but acquainted young Friendly with it at their next 126 JONATHAN WILD. interview. Friendly, who detested Wild (from tliat envy- probably with which these gebat chaeactbrs naturally inspire low fellows), encouraged these suspicions so much that Heartfree resolved to attack our hero and carry him before a magistrate. This resolution had been some time taken, and Friendly, with a warrant and a constable, had with the utmost diligence searched several days for our hero ; but whether it was that in compliance with modern cus- tom he had retired to spend the honeymoon with his bride, the only moon, indeed, in which it is fashionable or customary for the married parties to have any cor- respondence with each other ; or perhaps his habitation might for particular reasons be usually kept a secret, like those of some few great men whom unfortunately the law hath left out of that reasonable as well as hon- orable provision which it hath made for the security of the persons of other great men. But Wild resolved to perform works of supereroga- tion in the way of honor, and, though no hero is obliged to answer to the challenge of my lord chief justice, or indeed of any other magistrate, but may with unblem- ished reputation slide away from it, yet such was the bravery, such the greatness, the magnanimity of Wild, that he appeared in person to it. Indeed envy may say one thing, which may lessen the glory of this action, namely, that the said Mr. Wild knew nothing of the said warrant or challenge ; and as thou mayest be assured, reader, that the malicious fury will omit nothing which can anyways sully so great a char- acter so she hath endeavored to account for this second visit of our hero to his friend Heartfree from a very dif- ferent motive than that of asserting his own innocence. JONATHAN WILD. 127 CHAPTER X. JKr. Wild with unprecedented generosity visits his friend Heartfree, and the ungrateful reception he met with. It hath been said then that Mr. Wild, not being- able on the strictest examination to find in a certain spot of human nature called his own heart the least grain of that pitiful low quality called honesty, had resolved, perhaps a little too generally, that there was no such thing. He therefore imputed the resolution with which Mr. Heart- free had so positively refused to concern himself in mur- der, either to a fear of bloodying his hands or the appre- hension of a ghost, or lest he should make an additional example in that excellent book called God's Revenge against Murder ; and doubted not but he would (at least in his present necessity) agree without scruple to a simple robbery, especially where any considerable booty should be proposed and the safety of the attack plausibly made to appear, which if he could prevail on him to undertake, he would immediately afterwards get him impeached, convicted, and hanged. He no sooner therefore had dis- charged his duties to Hymen, and heard that Heartfree had procured himself the liberties of the Fleet, than he resolved to visit him, and to propose a robbery with all the allurements of profit, ease and safety. This proposal was no sooner made than it was answered by Heartfree in the following manner : " I might have hoped the answer which I gave to your former advice would have prevented me from the danger of receiving a second affront of this kind. An affront I call it, and surely, if it be so to call a man a villain, it can be no less to show him you suppose him one. Indeed, it may be wondered how any man can arrive at the bold- ness, I may say impudence, of first making such an overture to another ; surely it is seldom done, unless tg 128 JONATHAN WILD. those who have previously betrayed some symptoms of their own baseness. If I have therefore shown you any such, these insults are more pardonable ; but I assure you, if such appear, they discharge all their malignance outwardly, and reflect not even a shadow within ; for to me baseness seems inconsistent with this rule, OF doing NO OTHER PERSON AN INJURY PROM ANY MOTIVE OR ON ANY CONSIDERATION WHATEVER. This, sir, is the rule by which I am determined to walk, nor can that man justify disbelieving me who will not own he walks not by it him- self. But, whether it be allowed to me or no, or whether I feel the good effects of its being practised by others, I am resolved to maintain it ; for surely no man can reap a benefit from my pursuing it equal to the comfort I myself enjoy : for what a ravishing thought, how replete with ecstasy, must the consideration be, that Almighty Good- ness is by its own nature engaged to reward me ! How indifferent must such a persuasion make a man to all the occurrences of this life ! What trifles must he represent to himself both the enjoyments and the afflictions of this world ! How easily must he acquiesce under missmg the former, and how patiently will he submit to the latter, who is convinced that his failing of a transitory imperfect reward here is a most certain argument of his obtaining one permanent and complete hereafter ! Dost thou think then, thou little, paltry, mean animal " (with such lan- guage did he treat our truly great man), "that I will foreg'o such comfortable expectations for any pitiful reward which thou canst suggest or promise to me ; for that sordid lucre for which all pains and labor are under- taken by the industrious, and all barbarities and iniquities committed by the vile ; for a worthless acquisition, which such as thou art can possess, can give, or can take away?" The former part of this speech occasioned much yawning in our hero, but the latter roused his anger; and he was collecting his rage to answer, when Friendly and the con- stable, who had been summoned by Heartfree on Wild's JONATHAN WILD. 129 first appearance, entered the roonij and seized the great man just as his wrath was bursting from his lips. The dialogue which now ensued is not worth relating : Wild was soon acquainted with the reason of this rough treatment, and presently conveyed before a magistrate. Notwithstanding the doubts raised by Mr. Wild's law- yer on his examination, he insisting that the proceeding was improper, for that a writ de homine replegiando should issue, and on the return of that a capias in wither- nam, the justice inclined to commitment, so that Wild was driven to other methods for his defense. He there- fore acquainted the justice that there was a young man likewise with him in the boat, and begged that he might be sent for, which request was accordingly granted, and the faithful Achates (Mr. Fireblood) was soon produced to bear testimony for his friend, which he did with so much becoming zeal, and went through his examination with such coherence (though he was forced to collect his evidence from the hints given him by Wild in the pres- ence of the justice and the accusers), that, as here was direct evidence against mere presumption, our hero was .most honorably acquitted, and poor Heartfree was charged by the justice, the audience, and all others who afterwards heard the story, with the blackest ingratitude, in attempting to take away the life of a man to whom he had such eminent obligations. Lest so vast an effort of friendship as this of Fireblood's should too violently surprise the reader in this degenerate age, it may be proper to inform him that beside the ties of engagement in the same employ, another nearer and stronger alliance subsisted between our hero and this youth, which latter was just departed from the arms of the lovely Lsetitia when he received her husband's mes- sage ; an instance which may also serve to justify those strict intercourses of love and acquaintance which so com- monly subsist in modern history between the husband and gallant, displaying the vast force of friendship contracted 130 JONATHAN WILD. by this more honorable than legal alliance, which is thought to be at present one of the strongest bonds of amity between great men, and the most reputable as well as easy way to their favor. Four months had now passed since Heartfree's first confinement, and his affairs had begun to wear a more benign aspect ; but they were a good deal injured by this attempt on Wild (so dangerous is any attack on a great man), several of his neighbors, and particularly one or two of his own trade, industriously endeavoring, from their bitter animosity against such kind of iniquity, to spread and exaggerate his ingratitude as much as possible; not in the least scrupling, in the violent ardor of their indignation, to add some small circumstances of their own knowledge of the many obligations conferred on Heartfree by Wild. To all these scandals he quietly sub- mitted, comforting himself in the consciousness of his own innocence, and confiding in time, the sure friend of justice, to acquit him. CHAPTER XI. A scheme so deeply laid, that it shames all the politics of this our age ; with digression and subdigression. Wild having now, to the hatred he bore Heartfree on account of those injuries he had done him, an additional spur from this injury received (for so it appeared to him, who, no more than the most ignorant, considered how truly he deserved it), applied his utmost industry to accomplish the ruin of one whose very name sounded odious in his ears ; when luckily a scheme arose in his imagination which not only promised to effect it securely, but (which pleased him most) by means of the mischief he had already done him ; and which would at once load him with the imputation of having committed what Uq JONATHAN WILD. 131 himself had done to him, and would bring on him the severest punishment for a fact of- which he was not only innocent, but had already so greatly suffered by. And this was no other than to charge him with having conveyed away his wife, with his most valuable effects, in order to defraud his creditors. He no sooner started this thought than he immediately resolved on putting it in execution. What remained to consider was only the quomodo, and the person or tool to be employed ; for the stage of the world differs from that in Drury-lane principally in this — that whereas, on the latter, the hero or chief figure is almost continually before your eyes, whilst the under-actors are not seen above once in an evening ; now, on the former, the hero or great man is always behind the curtain, and seldom or never appears or doth anything in his own person. He doth indeed, in this grand drama, rather perform the part of the prompter, and doth instruct the well-dressed figures, who are strutting in public on the stage, what to say and do. To say the truth, a puppet-show will illus- trate our meaning better, where it is the master of the show (the great man) who dances and moves everything, whether it be the king of Muscovy or whatever other potentate alias puppet which we behold on the stage ; but he himself keeps wisely out of sight, for, should he once appear, the whole motion would be at an end. Not that anyone is ignorant of his being there, or supposes that the puppets are not mere sticks of wood, and he himself the sole mover ; but as this (though every one knows it) doth not appear visibly, i. e. to their eyes, no one is ashamed of consenting to be imposed upon ; of helping on the drama, by calling the several sticks or puppets by the names which the master hath allotted to them, and by assigning to each the character which the great man is pleased they shall move in, or rather in which he him- self is pleased to move them. Tt would be to suppose thee, gentle reader, one of very 132 JONATHAN WILD. little knowledge in this world, to imagine thou hast never seen some of these puppe.t-shows which are so frequently acted on the great sbage ; but though thou shouldst have resided all thy days in those remote parts of this island which great men seldom visit, yet if thou hast any pene- tration, thou must have had some occasions to admire both the solemnity of countenance in the actor and the gravity in the spectator, while some of those farces are carried on which are acted almost daily in every village in the kingdom. He must have a very despicable opinion of mankind indeed who can conceive them to be imposed on as often as they appear to be so. The truth is, they are in the same situation with the readers of romances ; who, though they know the whole to be one entire fiction, nevertheless agree to be deceived; and, as these find amusement, so do the others find ease and convenience in this concurrence. But, this being a subdigression, I return to my digression. A GEEAT MAN ought to do his business by others ; to employ hands, as we have before said, to his purposes, and keep himself as much behind the curtain as possible ; and though it must be acknowledgod that two very great men, whose names will be both recorded in history, did in these latter times come forth themselves on the stage, and did hack and hew and lay each other most cruelly open to the diversion of the spectators, yet this must be mentioned rather as an example of avoidance than imitation, and is to be ascribed to the number of those in- stances which serve to evince the truth of these maxims : Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. Ira furor hrevis est, <&c. JONATHAN WILD. 133 CHAPTER XII. New instances of Friendly' s folly, <&c. To return to my history, which, having rested itself a little, is now ready to proceed on its journey : Fireblood was the person chosed by Wild for this service. He had, on a late occasion, experienced the talents of this youth for a good round perjury. He immediately, therefore, found him out, and proposed it to him ; when, receiving his instant assent, they consulted together, and soon framed an evidence, which, being communicated to one of tlie most bitter and severe creditors of Heartfree, by him laid before a magistrate, and attested by the oath of Fireblood, the justice granted his warrant ; and Heart- free was according apprehended and brought before him. When the officers came for this poor wretch they found him meanly diverting himself with his little children, the younger of whom sat on his knees, and the elder was playing at a little distance from him with Friendly. One of the officers, who was a very good sort of a man, but one very laudably severe in his office, after acquainting Heartfree with his errand, bade him come along and be d — d, and leave those little bastards, for so, he said, he supposed they were, for a legacy to the parish. Heart- free was much surprised at hearing there was a warrant for felony against him ; but he showed less concern than Friendly did in his countenance. The elder daughter, when she saw the officer lay hold on her father, immedi- ately quitted her play, and, running to him and hursting into tears, cried out, "You shall not hurt poor papa." One of the other ruffians offered to take the little one rudely from his knees ; but Heartfree started up, and catching the fellow by the collar, dashed his head so violently against the wall, that, had he had any brains, he might possibly have lost them by the blow. 184 JONATHAN WILD. The ofEicer, like most of those heroic spirits who insult men in adversity, had some prudence mixed with his zeal for justice. Seeing, therefore, this rough treatment of his companion, he began to pursue more gentle methods, and very civilly desired Mr. Heartfree to go with him, seeing he was an officer, and obliged to execute his war- rant ; that he was sorry for his misfortune, and hoped he would be acquitted. The other answered, " He should patiently submit to the laws of his country, and would attend him whither he was ordered to conduct him ; " then, taking leave of his children with a tender kiss, he recommended them to the care of Friendly, who promised to see them safe home, and then to attend him at the jus- tice's, whose name and abode he had learned of the con- stable. Friendly arrived at the magistrate's house just as that gentleman had signed the mittimus against his friend • for the evidence of Fireblood was so clear and strong, and the justice was so incensed against Heartfree, and so con- vinced of his guilt, that he would hardly hear him speak in his own defense, which the reader perhaps, when he hears the evidence against him, will be less inclined to censure ; fortius witness deposed, " That he had been, by Heartfree himself, employed to carry the orders of em. bezzling to Wild, in order to be delivered to his wife ; that he had been afterwards present with Wild and her at the inn when they took coach for Harwich, where she showed him the casket of jewels, and desired him to tell her hus- band that she had fully executed his command ; and this he swore to have been done after Heartfree had notice of the commission, and, in order to bring it within that time, Fireblood, as well as Wild, swore that Mrs. Heartfree lay several days concealed at Wild's house before her depar- ture for Holland." When Friendly found the justice obdurate, and thatall he could say had no effect, nor was it in any way possi- ble for Heartfree to escape being committed to Nev/^ate, JONATHAN WILD. 135 he resolved to accompany him thither ; where, when they arrived, the turnkey would have confined Heartfree (he having no money) among the common felons; hut Friendly would not permit it, and advanced every shilling he had in his pocket, to procure a room in the press-yard for his friend, which mdeed, through the humanity of the keeper, he did at a cheap rate. They spent that day together, and in the evening the prisoner dismissed his friend, desiring him, after many thanks for his fidelity, to he comforted on his account. "I know not," says he, " how far the malice of my enemy will prevail ; hut whatever my sufferings are, I am con- vinced my innocence will somewhere be rewarded. If, therefore, any fatal accident should happen to me (for he who is in the hands of perjury may apprehend the worst), my dear Friendly, be a father to my poor children ; " at which words the tears gushed from his eyes. The other begged him not to admit any such apprehensions, for that he would employ his utmost diligence in his service, and doubted not but to subvert any villainous design laid for his destruction, and to make his innocence appear to the world as white as it was in his own opinion. We cannot help mentioning a circumstance here, though we doubt it will appear very unnatural and incredible to our reader ; which is, that, notwithstanding the former character and behavior of Heartfree, this story of his embezzling was so far from surprising his neighbors, that many of them declared they expected no better from him. Some were assured he could pay forty shillings in the pound if he would. Others had overheard hints formerly pass between him and Mrs. Heartfree which had given them suspicions. And what is most astonishing of all is, that many of those who had before censured him for an extravagant heedless fool now no less confidently abused him for a ciumiug, tricking, avaricious knave. 136 JONATHAN WILD. CHAPTER XIIL Something eoncerning Fireblood, which will surprise; and somewhat touching one of the Miss Snaps; which will greatly concern the reader. HowEATER, notwithstanding all these censures abroad, and in despite of all his misfortunes at home, Heartfree in Newgate enjoyed a quiet, undisturbed repose -, while our hero, nobly disdaining rest, lay sleepless all night, partly from the apprehensions of Mrs. Heartfree's return before he had executed his scheme, and partly from a suspicion lest Fireblood should betray him ; of whose in- fidelity he had, nevertheless, no other cause to maintain any fear, but from his knowing him to be an accomplished rascal as the vulgar term it, a complete great MAN in our language. And indeed, to confess the truth, these doubts were not without some foundation, for the very same thought unluckily entered the head of that noble youth, who considered whether he might not possibly sell himself for some advantage to the other side, as he had yet no promise from Wild ; but this was, by the sagacity of the latter, prevented in the morning with a profusion of promises, which showed him to be of the most generous temper in the world, with which Fireblood was extremely well satisfied, and made use of so many protestations of his faithfulness that he convinced Wild of the injustice of his suspicions. At this time an accident happened, which, though it did not immediately aflfect our hero, we cannot avoid relating, as it occasioned great confusion in his family, as well as in the family of Snap. It is indeed a calamity highly to be lamented, when it stains untainted blood, and happens to an honorable house — an injury never to be repaired — a blot never to be wiped out — a sore never to be healed. To detain my reader no longer. Miss Theodosia Snap was JONATHAN WILD. 137 now safely delivered of a male infant, the product of an amour which that beautiful (O that I could say virtuous!) creature had with the count. Mr. Wild and his lady were at breakfast when Mr. Snap, with all the agonies of despair both in his voice and countenance, brought them this melancholy news. Our hero, who had (as we have said) wonderful good-nature when his greatness or interest was not concerned, instead reviling his sister-in-law, asked with a smile, " Who was the father?" But the chaste Laetitia, we repeat the chaste, for well did she now deserve that epithet, received it in another manner. She fell into the utmost fury at the relation, reviled her sister in the bitterest terms, and vowed she would never see nor speak to her more ; then burst into tears, and lamented over her father that such dishonor should ever happen to him and herself. At length she fell severely on her husband for the light treat- ment which he gave this fatal accident. She told him he was unworthy of the honor he enjoyed of marrying into a chaste family. That she looked on it as an affront to her virtue. That if he had married one of the naughty hus- sies of the town he could have behaved to her in no other manner. She concluded with desiring her father to make an example of the slut, and to turn her out of doors ; for that she would not otherwise enter his house, being re- solved never to set her foot within the same threshold with the trollop, whom she detested so much the more because (which was perhaps true) she was her own sister. So violent; and indeed so outrageous, was this chaste lady's love of virtue, that she could not forgive a single slip (indeed the only one Theodosia had ever made) in her own sister, in a sister who loved her, and to whom she owed a thousand obligations. Perhaps the severity of Mr. Snap, who greatly felt the injury done to the honor of his family, would have re- lented, had not the parish officers been extremely pressing on this occasion, and for want of security, conveyed the 138 JONATHAN WILD. unhappy young lady to a place, the name of which, for the honor of the Snaps, to whom our hero was so nearly allied, we bury in eternal oblivion ; where sjie suffered so much correction for her crime, that the good-natured reader of the male kind may be inclined to compassionate her, at least to imagine she was sufficiently punished for a fault which, with submission to the chaste L^titia and all other strictly virtuous ladies, it should be either less criminal in a woman to commit, or more so in a man to solicit her to it. But to return to our hero, who was a living and strong instance that human greatness and happiness are not al- ways inseparable. He was under a continual alarm of frights, and fears, and jealousies. He thought every man he beheld wore a knife for his throat, and a pair of scissors for his purse. As for his own gang particularly, he was thoroughly convinced there was not a single man amongst them who would not, for the value of five shil- lings, bring him to the gallows. These apprehensions so constantly broke his rest, and kept him so assiduously on his guard to frustrate and circumvent any designs which might be formed against him, that his condition, to any other than the glorious eye of ambition, might seem rather deplorable than the object of envy or desire. CHAPTER XIV. In which our hero makes a speech well worthy to be celebrated ; and the behavior of one of the gang, perhaps more unnatural than any other part of this history. There was in the gang a man named Blueskin, one of those merchants who trade in dead oxen, sheep, &c., in short, what the vulgar call a butcher. This gentleman had two qualities of a great man, viz. : undaunted courage, and an absolute contempt of those ridiculous distinctions JONATHAN WILD. 139 of meum and tuum, which would cause endless disputes, did not the law happily decide them by converting both into suum. The common form of exchanging property hy trade seemed to him too tedious ; he therefore resolved to quit the mercantile profession, and, falling acquainted with some of Mr. Wild's people, he provided himself with arms, and enlisted of the gang ; in which he behaved for some time with great decency and order, and submitted to accept such share of the booty with the rest as our hero allotted him. But this subserviency agreed ill with his temper; for we should have before remembered a third heroic quality, namely, ambition, which was no inconsiderable part of his composition. One day, therefore, having robbed a ■gentleman at Windsor of a gold watch, which, on its being advertised in the newspapers, with a considerable reward, was demanded of him by Wild, he peremptorily refused to deliver it. "How, Mr. Blueskin?" says Wild ; "you will not de- liver the watch?"— "No, Mr. Wild," answered he; "I have talien it, and will keep it; or, if 1 dispose of it, I will dispose of it myself, and keep the money for which I sell it." — "Sure," replied Wild, "you have not the assurance to pretend you have any property or right in this watch ?" — "I am certain," returned Blueskin, "whether I have any right in it or no, jou can prove none." "I will under- take," cries the other, "to show I have an absolute right to it, and that by the laws of our gang, of which I am providentially at the head." — "I know not who put you at the head of it," cries Blueskin; "but those who did cer- tainly did it for their own good, that you might conduct them the better in their robberies, inform them of the richest booties, prevent surprises, pack juries, bribe evi- dence, and so contribute to their benefit and safety; and not to convert all their labor and hazard to your own benefit and advantage." — "You are greatly mistaken, sir," answered Wild; "you are talking of a legal society, W— lo 140 JONATHAN WILD. where the chief magistrate is always chosen for the pub- lic good, which, as we see in all the legal societies of the world, he constantly consults, daily contributing, by his superior skill, to their prosperity, and not sacrificing their good to his own wealth, or pleasure, or humor: but in an illegal society or gang, as this of ours, it is other- wisej for who would be at the head of a gang, unless for his own interest ? And without a head, you know, you cannot subsist. Nothing but a head, and obedience to that head, can preserve a gang a moment from destruc- tion. It is absolutely better for you to content yourselves with a moderate reward, and enjoy that in safety at the disposal of your chief, than to engross the whole with the hazard to which you will be liable without his protection. And surely there is none in the whole gang who has less reason to complain than you; you have tasted of my favors: witness that piece of ribbon you wear in your hat, with which I dubbed you captain. Therefore pray, cap- tain, deliver the watch." — "D — n your cajoling," says Blueskin; "do you think I value myself on this bit of rib- bon, which I could have bought myself for sixpence, and have worn without your leave ? Do you imagine I think myself a captain because you, whom I know not em- powered to make one, call me so ? The name of captain is but a shadow: the men and the salary are the sub- stance; and I am not to be bubbled with a shadow. I will be called captain no longer, and he who flatters me by that name I shall think affronts me, and I will knock him down, I assure you." "Did ever man talk so un- reasonably?" cries Wild. "Are you not respected as a captain by the whole gang since my dubbing you so ? But it is the shadow only, it seems; and you will knock a man down for affronting you who calls you captain! Might not a man as reasonably tell a Minister of State, Sir, you have given me the shadow only ? The ribbon or the bauble that you gave me implies that I have either sig- nalized myself, by some great action, for the benefit and JONATHAN WILD. 141 glory of my country, or at least that I am descended from those who have done so. I know myself to be a scoundrel, and so have been those few ancestors I can re- member, or have ever heard of. Therefore, I am resolved to knock the first man down who calls me sir or right honor- able. But all great and wise men think themselves suf- ficiently repaid by what procures them honor and prece- dence in the gang, without inquiring into substance; nay, if a title or a feather be equal to this purpose, they are substance, and not mere shadows. But I have not time to argue with you at present, so give me the watch with- out any more deliberation." — "I am no more a friend to deliberation than yourself," answered Blueskin, "and so I tell you, once for all, by G — I never will give you the watch, no, nor will I ever hereafter surrender any part of my booty. I won it, and I will wear it. Take your pis- tols yourself, and go out on the highway, and don't lazily think to fatten yourself with the dangers and pains of other people." At which words he departed in a fierce mood', and repaired to the tavern used by the gang where he had appointed to meet some of his acquaintance, whom he informed of what had passed between him and Wild, and advised them all to follow his example; which they all readily agreed to, and Mr. Wild's d — tion was the universal toast; in drinking bumpers to which they ' had finished a large bowl of punch, when a constable, with a numerous attendance, and Wild at their head, entered the room and seized on Blueskin, whom his companions, when they saw our hero, did not dare attempt to rescue. The watch was found upon him, which, together with Wild's information, was more than sufficient to commit him to Newgate. In the evening Wild and the rest of those who had been drinking with Blueskin met at the tavern, where nothing was to be seen but the profoundest submission to their leader. They vilified and a bused Blueskin as much as they had before abused our hero, and now repeated the 142 JONATHAN WILD. same toast, only changing the name of Wild into Blue- skin; all agreeing with "Wild that the watch found in his pocket, and which must be a fatal evidence against him, was a just judgment on his disobedience and revolt. Thus did this great man by a resolute and timely ex- ample (for he went directlj' to the justice when Blueskin left him) quell one of the most dangerous conspiracies which could possibly arise in a gang, and which, had it been permitted one day's growth, would inevitably have ended in his destruction; so much doth it behove all great men to be eternally on their guard, and expeditious in the execution of their purposes; while none but the weak and honest can indulge themselves in remissness or repose. The Achates, Fireblood, had been present at both these meetings; but, though he had a little too hastily concur- red in cursing his friend, and in vowing his perdition, yet now he saw all that scheme dissolved he returned to his integrity, of which he gave an incontestable proof, by in- forming "Wild of the measures which had been concerted against him, in which he said he had pretended to acqui- esce in order the better to betray them; but this, as he afterwards confessed on his death-bed at Tyburn, was only a copy of his countenance; for that he was, at that time," as sincere and hearty in his opposition to "Wild as any of his companions. Our hero received Fireblood's information with a very- placid countenance. He said, as the gang had seen their errors, and repented, nothing was more noble than for- giveness. But, though he was pleased modestly to ascribe this to his lenity, it really arose from much more noble and political principles. He considered that it would be dangerous to attempt the punishment of so many; besides, he flattered himself that fear would keep them in order: and indeed Fireblood had told him nothing more than he knew before, viz. that thay were all com- plete prigs, whom he was to govern by their fears, and JONATHAN WILD. 143 in whom he was to place no more confidence than was necessary, and to watch them with the utmost caution and circumspection: for a rogue, he wisely said, like gun- powder, must he used with caution; since both are alto- gether as liable to blow up the party himself who uses them as to execute his mischievous purpose against some other person or animal. We will now repair to Newgate, it being the place where most of the great men of this history are hasten- ing as fast as possible; and, to confess the truth, it is a castle very far from being an improper or misbecoming habitation for any great man whatever. And as this scene will continue during the residue of our history, we shall open it with a new book, and shall therefore take this opportunity of closing our third. 144 JONATHAN WILD. BOOK IV. CHAPTER I. A sentiment of the ordinary's, worthy to he vrritten in letters of gold; a very extraordinary instance of folly in Friendly; and a dread- ful accident which befell our hero. Hbartfrbe had not been long in Newgate before his frequent conversation with his children, and other instan- ces of a good heart, which betrayed themselves in his ac- tions and conversation, created an opinion in all about him that he was one of the silliest fellows in the universe. The ordinary himself, a very sagacious as well as very worthy person, declared that he was a cursed rogue, but no conjurer. What indeed might induce the former, i.e. the roguish part of this opinion in the ordinary, was a wicked senti- ment which Heartfree one day disclosed in conversation, and which we, who are truly orthodox, will not pretend to justify, that he believed a sincere Turk would be saved. To this the good man, with becoming zeal and indigna- tion, answered, " I know not what may become of a sin- cere Turk; but, if this be your persuasion, I pronounce it impossible you should be saved. No, sir; so far from a sincere Turk's being within the pale of salvation, neither will any sincere Presbyterian, Anabaptist, nor Quaker whatever, be saved." But neither did the one nor the other part of this char- acter prevail on Friendly to abandon his old master. He spent his whole time with him, except only those hours when he was absent for his sake, in procuring evidence for him against his trial, which was now shortly to come on. Indeed this young man was the only comfort, besides JONATHAN WILD. 145 a clear conscience and the hopes beyond the grave, which this poor wretch had; for the sight of his children was like one of those alluring pleasures which men in some diseases indulge themselves often fatally in, which at once flatter and heighten their malady. Friendly being one day present while Heartfree was, with tears in his eyes, embracing his eldest daughter, and lamenting the hard fate to which he feared he should be obliged to leave her, spoke to him thus: " I have long observed with admiration the magnanimity with which you go through your own misfortunes, and the steady countenance with which you look on death. I have observed that all your agonies arise from the thoughts of parting with your children, and of leaving them in a dis- tressed condition; now, though I hope all your fears will prove ill-grounded, yet, that I may relieve you as much as possible from them, be assured that, as nothing can give me more real misery than to observe so tender and loving a concern in a master, to whose goodness I owe so many obligations, and whom I so sincerely love, so nothing can afford me equal pleasure with my contribut- ing to lessen or to remove it. Be convinced, therefore, if you can place any confidence in my promise, that I will employ my little fortune, which you know to be not entirely inconsiderable, in the support of this your little family. Should any misfortune, which I pray Heaven avert, happen to you before you have better provided for these little ones, I will be myself their father, nor shall either of them ever know distress if it be any way in my power to prevent it. Your younger daughter I will pro- vide for, and as for my little prattler, your elder, as I never yet thought of any woman for a wife, I will receive her as such at your hands ; nor will I ever relinquish her for another." Heartfree flew to his friend, and embraced him with raptures of acknowledgment. He vowed to him that he had eased every anxious thought of his mind but one, and that he must carry with him out of the world, 146 JONATHAN WILD. " O Friendly !" cried he, " it is my concern for that best of women, whom I hate myself for having ever censured in my opinion. O Friendly ! thou didst know her good- ness; yet, sure, her perfect character none but myself was ever acquainted with. She had every perfection, both of mind and body, which heaven hath indulged to her whole sex, and possessed all in a higher excel- lence than nature ever indulged to another in any single virtue. Can I bear the loss of such a woman? Can I bear the apprehensions of what mischiefs that villain may have done to her, of which death is perhaps the lightest ?" Friendly gently interrupted him as soon as he saw any opportunity, endeavoring to comfort him on this head likewise, by magnifying every circumstance which could possibly afford any hopes of his seeing her again. By this kind of behavior, in which the young man exemplified so uncommon a height of friendship, he had soon obtained in the castle the character of as odd and silly a fellow as his master. Indeed they were both the byword, laughing-stock, and contempt of the whole place. The sessions now came on at the Old Bailey. The grand jury at Hicks's Hall had found the bill of indict- ment against Heartfree, and on the second day of the session he was brought to his trial ; where, notwithstand- ing the utmost efforts of Friendly and the honest old female servant, the circumstances of the fact corroborat- ing the evidence of Fireblood, as well as that of Wild, who counterfeited the most artful reluctance at appearing against his old friend Heartfree, the jury found the prisoner guilty. Wild had now accomplished his scheme ; for as to what remained, it was certainly unavoidable, seeing that Heart- free was entirely void of interest with the great, and was besides convicted on a statute the infringers of which could hope no pardon. The catastrophe to which our hero has reduced this JONATHAN WILD. 147 wretcti was so wonderful an effort of greatness, that it probably made Fortune envious of her own darling ; but whether it was from this envy, or only from that known inconstancy and weakness so often and judiciously re- marked in that lady's temper, who frequently lifts men to the summit of human greatness, only ut lapsu graviore ruant ; certain it is, she now began to meditate mischief against Wild, who seems to have come to that period at which all heroes have arrived, and which she was resolved they should never transcend. In short, there seems to be a certain measure of mischief and iniquity which every great man is to fill up, and then Fortune looks on him of no more use than a silkworm whose bottom is spun, and deserts him. Mr. Blueskin was convicted the same day of robbery, by our hero, an unkindness which, though he had drawn on himself, and necessitated him to, he took greatly amiss : as Wild, therefore, was standing- near him, with that disregard and indifference which great men are too carelessly inclined to have for those whom they have ruined, Blueskin, privily drawing a knife, thrust the same into the body of our hero with such violence, that all who saw it concluded he had done his business. And, indeed, had not fortune, not so much out of love for our hero, as from a fixed resolution to accomplish a certain purpose, of which we have formerly given a hint, care- fully placed his guts out of the way, be must have fallen a sacrifice to the wrath of his enemy, which, as he after- wards said, he did not deserve ; for, had he been content to have robbed and only submitted to give him the booty, he might have still continued safe and unimpeached in the gang ; but, so it was, that the knife, missing those noble parts (the noblest of many), the guts, perforated only the hollow of his belly, and caused no other harm than an immoderate effusion of blood, of which, though it at present weakened him, he soon after recovered. This accident, however, was in the end attended witb 148 JONATHAN WILD. ■worse consequences : for as very few people (those great- est of all men, absolute princes excepted) attempt to cut the thread of human life, like the fatal sisters, merely out of wantonness and for their diversion, but rather by so doing propose to themselves the acquisition of some future good, or the avenging some past evil ; and as the former of these motives did not appear probable, it put inquisitive persons on examining into the latter. Now, as the vast schemes of Wild, when they were discovered, however great in their nature, seemed to some persons, like the projects of most other such persons, rather to be calculated for the glory of the great man himself than to redound to the general good of society, designs began to be laid by several of those who thought it principally their duty to put a stop to the future progress of our hero ; and a learned judge particularly, a great enemy to this kind of greatness, procured a clause in an act of parliament as a trap for Wild, which he soon after fell into. By this law it was made capital in a prig to steal with the hands of other people. A law so plainly calcu- lated for the destruction of all priggish greatness, that it was impossible for our hero to avoid it. CHAPTER II. A short hint concerning popular ingratitude. Mr. Wild's arrival in the castle, with other occurrences to he found in no other history. If we had any leisure we would here digress a little on that ingratitude which so many writers have observed to spring up in the people of all free governments towards their great men ; who while they have been consulting the good of the public, by raising their own greatness, in which the whole body (as the kingdom of France thinks itself in the glory of their grand monarch) was so deeply concerned, have been sometimes sacrificed by those very JONATHAN WILD. 149 people for whose glory the said great men were so indus- triously at work : and this from a foolish zeal for a cer- tain ridiculous imaginary thing, called liberty, to which great men are observed to have a great animosity. This law had been promulgated a very little time when Mr. Wild, having received from some dutiful members of the gang a valuable piece of goods, did, for a consideration somewhat short of its original price, reconvey it to the right owner; for which fact, being ungratefully in- formed against by the said owner, he was surprised in his own house, and, being overpowered by numbers, was hurried before a magistrate, and by him committed to that castle, which, suitable as it is to greatness, we do not choose to name too often in our history, and where many great men at this time happen to be assembled. The governor, or, as the law more honorably calls him , keeper of this castle, was Mr. Wild's old friend and acquaintance. This made the latter greatly satisfied with the place of his confinement, as he promised himself not only a kind reception and handsome accommodation there, but even to obtain his liberty from him if he thought it necessary to desire it ; but, alas ! he was de- ceived ; his old friend knew him no longer, and refused to see him, and the lieutenant-governor insisted on as high garnish for fetters, and as exorbitant a price for lodging, as if he had had a fine gentleman in custody for murder, or any other genteel crime. To confess a melancholy truth, it is a circumstance much to be lamented, that there is no absolute dependence on the friendship of great men ; an observation which hath been frequently made by those who have lived in courts, or in Newgate, or in any other place set apart for the habitation of such persons. The second day of his confinement he was greatly sur- prised at receiving a visit from his wife; and much more so, when, instead of a countenance ready to insult him, the only motive to which he could ascribe her presence. 150 JONATHAN WILD. he saw the tears trickling- down her lovely cheeks. He embraced her with the utmost marks of affections, and declared he could hardly regret his confinement, since it had produced such an instance of the happiness lie en- joyed in her, whose fidelity to him on this occasion would, he believed, make him the envy of most husbands, even in Newgate. He then begged her to dry her eyes, and be comforted ; for that matters might go better with him than she expected. "No, no," says she, "I am certain you would be found guilty Death. I knew what it would always come to. I told you it was impossible to carry on such a trade long ; but you would not be advised, and now you see the consequence — now you repent when it is too late. All the comfort I shall have when you are nubbed* is, that I gave you a good advice. If you had always gone out by yourself, as I would have had you, you might have robbed on to the end of the chapter ; but you was wiser than all the world, or rather lazier, and see what your laziness is come to — to the cheat, \ for thither you will now go, that's infallible. And a just judgment on you for following your headstrong will ; I am the only person to be pitied ; poor I, who shall be scandalized for your fault. There goes she whose husband was hanged : me- thinks I hear them crying so already." At which words she burst into tears. He could not then forebear chiding her for this unnecessary concern on his account, and begged her not to trouble him any more. She answered with some spirit, " On your account, and be d — d to you ! No, if the old cull of a justice had not sent me hither, I be- lieve it would have been long enough before I should have come hither to see after you ; d — n me, I am committed for the filing-lay, I man, and we shall be both nubbed to- gether. I'faith, my dear, it almost makes me amends for being nubbed myself to have the pleasure of seeing thee nubbed too. — " Indeed, my dear," answered Wild, "it is what I have long wished for thee ; but I do not desire to * The cant word for hanging. + The gallows. i Picking pockets. JONATHAN WILD. 151 bear thee company, and I have still hopes to have the pleasure of seeing you go without me ; at least 1 will have the pleasure to be rid of you now." And so saying, he seized her by the waist, and with strong arm flung her out of the room ; but not before she had with her nails left a bloody memorial on his cheek ; and thus this fond couple parted. Wild had scarce recovered himself from the uneasiness into which this unwelcome visit, proceeding from the dis- agreeable fondness of his wife, had thrown him, than the faithful Achates appeared. The presence of this youth was indeed a cordial to his spirits. He received him with open arms, and expressed the utmost satisfaction in the fidelity of his friendship, which so far exceeded the fashion of the times, and said many things which we have forgot on the occasion ; but we remember they all tended to the praise of Fireblood, whose modesty, at length, put a stop to the torrent of compliments, by asserting he had done no more than his duty, and that he should have de- tested himself could he have forsaken his friend in his ad- versity ; and, after many protestations that he came the moment he heard of his misfortune, he asked him if he could be of any service. Wild answered, since he had so kindly proposed that question, he must say he should be obliged to him if he could lend him a few guineas ; for that he was very seedy. Fireblood replied that he was greatly unhappy in not having it then in his power, add- ing many oaths that he had not a farthing of money in his pocket, which was, indeed, strictly true ; for he had only a banknote, which he had that evening purloined, from a gentleman in the playhouse passage. He then asked for his wife, to whom, to speak truly, the visit was intended, her confinement being the misfortune of which he had just heard ; for, as for that of Mr. Wild himself, he had known it from the first minute, without ever in- tending to trouble him with his company. Being in- formed therefore of the visit which had lately happened, 153 JONATHAN WILD. he reproved Wild for his cruel treatment of that good creature ; then taking as sudden a leave as he civilly could of the gentleman, he hastened to comfort his lady, who received him with great kindness. CHAPTER III. Curious anecdotes relating to the history of Newgate. There resided in the castle at the same time with Mr. Wild one Roger Johnson, a very great man, who had long be en atthehead of all theprigs in Newgate, and had raised contributions on them. He examined into the nature of their defense, procured and instructed their evidence, and made himself, at least in their opinion, so necessary to them, that the whole fate of Newgate seemed entirely to depend upon him. Wild had not been long in confinement before he began to oppose this man. He represented him to the prigs as a fellow who, under the plausible pretence of assist- ing their causes, was in reality undermining the liber- ties OF Newgate. He at first threw out certain sly hints and insinuations ; but, having by degrees formed a party against Roger, he one day assembled them together, and spoke to them in the following florid manner: " Friends and fellow citizens, — The cause which I am to mention to you this day is of such mighty importance, that when I consider my own small abilities, I tremble with an apprehension lest your safety may be rendered precarious by the weakness of him who hath undertaken to represent to you your danger. Gentlemen, the liberty of Newgate is at stake: your privileges have been long undermined, and are now openly violated by one man; by one who hath engrossed to himself the whole conduct of your trials, under color of which he exacts what contri- butions on you he pleases: but are those sums appropri- JONATHAN WILD. 153 at€d to the uses for which they are raised ? Your fre- quent convictions at the Old Bailey, those depredations of justice, must too sensibly and sorely demonstrate the contrary. What evidence doth he ever produce for the prisoner which the prisoner himself could not have pro- vided, and often better instructed? How many noble youths have there been lost when a single alibi would have saved them ! Should I be silent, nay, could your own injuries want a tongue to remonstrate, the very breath which by his neglect hath been stopped at the cheat would cry out loudly against him. Nor is the ex- orbitancy of his plunders visible only in the dreadful con- sequences it hath produced to the prigs, nor glares it only in the miseries brought on them ; it blazes forth in the more desirable effects it hath wrought for himself, in the rich perquisites required by it ; witness that silk night- gown, that robe of shame, which, to his eternal dishonor, he publicly wears; that gown which I will not scruple to call the winding-sheet of the liberties of Newgate. Is there a prig who hath the interest and honor of New- gate so little at heart that he can refrain from blushing when he beholds that trophj', purchased with the breath of so many prigs ? Nor is this all. His waistcoat em- broidered with silk, and his velvet cap, bought with the same price, are ensigns of the same disgrace. Some would think the rags which covered his nakedness when first he was committed hither well exchanged for these gaudy trappings: but in my eye no exchange can be prof- itable when dishonor is the condition. If, therefore, Newgate " Here the only copy which we could pro- cure of this speech breaks off abruptly; however, we can assure the reader, from very authentic information, that he concluded with advising t]xe prigs to put their affairs into other hands . After which, one of his party, as had been before concerted, in a very long speech recommended him (Wild himself) to their choice. Newgate was divided into parties on this occasion ; the 154 JONATHAN WILD. prigs on each side representing their chief or great man to be the onlj^ person by whom the affairs of Newgate could be managed with safety and advantage. T\ie prigs had indeed very incompatible interests: for, whereas the supporters of Johnson, who was in possession of the plun- der of Newgate, were admitted to some share under their leader, so the abettors of Wild had, on his promotion, the same views of dividing some part of the spoil among themselves. It is no wonder, therefore, they were both so warm on each side. What may seem more remark- able was, that the debtors, who were entirely uncon- cerned in the dispute, and who were the destined plunder of both parties, should interest themselves with the ut- most violence, some on behalf of Wild, and others in favor of Johnson. So that all Newgate resounded with Wild forever, Johnson forever. And the poor debtors re-echoed the liberties of Newgate, which, in the cant language, signifies pZwrader, as loudly as the thieves them- selves. In short, such quarrels and animosities happened between them, that they seemed rather the people of two countries long at war with each other than the inhabit- ants of the same castle. Wild's party at length prevailed, and he succeeded to the place and power of Johnson, whom he presently stripped of all his finery ; but, when it was proposed that he should sell it and divide the money for the good of the whole, he waved that motion, saying it was not yet time, that he should find a better opportunity, that the clothes wanted cleaning, with many other pretences, and within two days, to the surprise of many, he appeared in them himself; for which he vouchsafed no other apology than that they fitted him much better than they did Johnson, and that they became him in a much more elegant man- ner. This behavior of Wild greatly incensed the debtors, particularly those by whose means he had been pro- moted. They grumbled extremely, and vented great in- JONATHAN WILD. 155 dignation against Wild; when one day a very grave man, and one of much authority among them, bespake them as follows: " Nothing sure can be more justly ridiculous than the conduct of those who should lay the lamb in the wolf's way, and then should lament his being devoured. What a wolf is in a sheep-fold, a great man is in society. Now, when one wolf is in possession of a sheep-fold, how little would it avail the simple flock to expel him and place another in his stead ! Of the same benefit to us is the overthrowing one prig in favor of another. And for what other advantage was your struggle ? Did you not all know that Wild and his followers were prigs, as well as Johnson and his ? What then could the contention be among such but that which you have now discovered it to have been ? Perhaps some would say, is it then our duty tamely to submit to the rapine of the prig who now plun- ders us for fear of an exchange ? Surely no : but I answer, it is better to shake the plunder off than to ex- change the plunderer. And by what means can we effect this but by a total change of our manners ? Every prig is a slave. His own priggish desires, which enslave him, themselves betray him to the tyranny of others. To preserve, therefore, the liberty of Newgate, is to change the manners of Newgate. Let us, therefore, who are con- fined here for debt only separate ourselves entirely from the prigsj neither drink with them nor converse with them. Let us at the same time separate ourselves farther from priggism itself. Instead of being ready, on every opportunity, to pillage each other, let us be content with our honest share of the common bounty, and with the acquisition of our own industry. When we separate from the prigs, let us enter into a closer alliance with one another. Let us consider ourselves all as members of one community, to the public good of which we are to sacri- fice our private views ; not to give up the interest of the whole for every little pleasure or profit which shall accrue W— II 156 JONATHAN WILD. to ourselves. Liberty is consistent with no degree of honesty inferior to this, and the community where this abounds no prig will have the impudence or audacious- ness to endeavor to enslave ; or if he should, his own de- struction would be the only consequence of his attempt. But while one man pursues his ambition, another his interest, another his safety ; while one hath a rog-uery (a priggism they here call it) to commit, and another a roguery to defend ; they must naturally fly to the favor and protection of those who have power to give them what they desire, and to defend them from what they fear; nay, in this view it becomes their interest to promote this power in their patrons. Now, gentlemen, when we are no longer prigs, we shall no longer have these fears or these desires. What remains therefore for us but to resolve bravely to lay aside our priggism, our roguery in plainer words, and preserve our liberty, or to give up the latter in the preservation and preference of the former?" This speech was received with much applause ; how- ever. Wild continued as before to levy contributions among the prisoners, to apply the garnish to his own use, and to strut openly in the ornaments which he had stripped from Johnson. To speak sincerely there was more bra- vado than real use or advantage in these trappings. As for the nightgown, its outside indeed made a glittering tinsel appearance, but it kept him not warm, nor could the finery of it do him much honor, since every one knew it did not properly belong to him ; as to the waistcoat, it fitted him very ill, being infinitely too big for him ; and the cap was so heavy that it made his head ache. Thus these clothes, which perhaps (as they presented the idea of their misery more sensibly to the people's eyes) brought him more envy, hatred, and detraction, than all his deeper impositions and more real advantages, afforded very little use or honor to the wearer ; nay, could scarce serve to amuse his own vanity when this was cool enough "he could not forbear renewing his embkace." JONATHAN WILD. 157 to reflect with the least seriousness. And, should I speak in the language of a man who estimated human happiness without regard to that greatness which we have so labo- riously endeavored to paint in this history, it is probable he -never took {i. e. robbed the prisoners of) a shilling which he himself did not pay too dear for. CHAPTER IV. The dead-warrant arrives for Heartfree ; on which occasion Wild betrays some human weakness. The dead- warrant, as it is called, now came down to Newgate for the execution of Heartfree among the rest of the prisoners. And here the reader must excuse us, who profess to draw natural, not perfect characters, and to record the truths of history, not the extravagances of romance, while we relate a weakness in Wild of which we are ourselves ashamed, and which we would willingly have concealed, could we have preserved at the same time that strict attachment to truth and impartiality which we have professed in recording the annals of this great man. Know then, reader, that this dead-warrant did not affect Heartf reS, who was to suffer a shameful death by it, with half the concern it gave Wild, who had been the occasion of it. He had been a little struck the day before on seeing the children carried away in tears from their father. This sight brought the remembrance of some slight injuries he had done the father to his mind, which he endeavored as much as possible to obliterate ; but, when - one of the keepers (I should say lieutenants of the castle) repeated Heartfree's name among those of the malefac- tors who were to suffer within a few days, the blood forsook his countenance, and in a cold still stream moved heavily to his heart, which had scarce strength enough ieft to return it through his veins. In short, his body so 158 JONATHAN WILD. visibly demonstrated the pangs of his mind, that to escape observation he retired to his room, where he sullenly g-ave vent to such bitter agonies, that even the injured Heartfree, had not the apprehension of what bis wife had suffered shut every avenue of compassion, would have pitied him. When his mind was thoroughly fatigued and worn out with the horrors which the approaching fate of the poor wretch who lay under a sentence which he had iniquit- ously brought upon him had suggested, sleep promised him relief ; but this promise was, alas ! delusive. This certain friend to the tired body is often the severest enemy to the oppressed mind. So at least it proved to Wild, adding visionary to real horrors, and tormenting his imagination with phantoms too dreadful to be described. At length, starting from these visions, he no sooner re- covered his waking senses, than he cried out — " I may yet prevent this catastrophe. It is not too late to dis- cover the whole. ' ' He then paused a moment ; but great- ness, instantly returning to his assistance, checked the base thought, as it first offered itself to his mind. He then reasoned thus coolly with himself : — " Shall I, like a child, or a woman, or one of those mean wretches whom 1 have always despised, be frightened by dreams and vis- ionary phantoms to sully that honor which I have so dif- ficultly acquired and so gloriously maintained ? Shall I, to redeem the worthless life of this silly fellow, suffer my reputation to contract a stain which the blood of millions cannot wipe away ? Was it only that the few, the simple part of mankind, should call me rogue, perhaps I could submit ; but to be for ever contemptible to the prigs, as a wretch who wanted spirit to execute my undertaking, can never be digested. What is the life of a single man ? Have not whole armies and nations been sacrificed to the honor of one great man ? Nay, to omit that first-class of greatness, the conquerors of mankind, how often have numbers fallen by a fictitious plot only to satisfy the JONATHAN WILD. 159 spleen, or perhaps exercise the ingenuity, of a member of that second order of greatness, the ministerial ! What have 1 done then ? Why, I have ruined a family, and brought an innocent man to the gallows. I ought rather to weep with Alexander that I have ruined no more than to regret the little I have done." He at length, there- fore, bravely resolved to consign over Heartfree to his fate, though it cost him more struggling than may easily be believed, utterly to conquer his reluctance, and to ban- ish away every degree of humanity from his mind, these little sparks of which composed one of those weaknesses which we lamented in the opening of our history. But, in vindication of our hero, we must beg leave to observe that Nature is seldom so kind as those writers who draw characters absolutely perfect. She seldom creates any man so completely great, or completely low, but that some sparks of humanity will glimmer in the former, and some sparks of what the vulgar call evil will dart forth in the latter ; utterly to extinguish which will give some pain, and uneasiness to both ; for I apprehend no mind was ever yet formed entirely free from blemish, unless peradventure that of a sanctified hypocrite, whose praises some well-fed flatterer hath gratefully thought proper to sing forth. CHAPTER V. Containing various matters. The day was now come when poor Heartfree was to suffer an ignominious death. Friendly had in the strong- est manner confirmed his assurance of fulfilling his prom- ise of becoming a father to one of his children and a hus- band to the other. This gave him inexpressible comfort, and he had, the evening before, taken his last leave of the little wretches with a tenderness which drew a tear 160 JONATHAN WILD. from one of the keepers, joined to a magnanimity which would have pleased a stoic. When he was informed that the coach which Friendly had provided for him was ready, and that the rest of the prisoners were gone, he embraced that faithful friend with great passion, and begged that he would leave him here ; but the other de- sired leave to accompany him to his end, which at last he was forced to comply with. And now he was proceeding towards the coach when he found his difficulties were not yet over; for now a friend arrived of whom he was to take a harder and more tender leave than he had yet gone through. This friend, reader, was no other than Mrs. Heartfree herself, who ran to him with a look all wild, staring, and frantic, and having reached his arms, fainted away in them without uttering a single syllable. Heart- free was, with great difficulty, able to preserve his own senses in such a surprise at such a season. And indeed our good-natured reader will be rather inclined to wish this miserable couple had, by dying in each other's arms, put a final period to their woes, than have survived to taste those bitter moments which were to be their por- tion, and which the unhappy wife, soon recovering from the short intermission of being, now began to suffer. When she became first mistress of her voice she burst forth into the following accents : — " O my husband ! Is this the condition in which I find you after our cruel sepa- ration ? Who hath done this ? Cruel Heaven ! What is the occasion ? I know thou canst deserve no ill. Tell me, somebody who can speak, while I have my senses left to understand, what is the matter?" At which words several laughed, and one answered, " The matter ! Why no great matter. The gentleman is not the first, nor won't be the last : the worst of the matter is, that if we are to stay all the morning here I shall lose my dinner." Heartfree, pausing a moment and recollecting himself, cried out, " I will bear all with patience." And then, ad- dressing himself to the commanding officer, begged hQ JONATHAN WILD. 161 might only have a few minutes by himself with his wife, whom he had not seen before since his misfortunes. The great man answered, " He had compassion on him, and would do more than he could answer ; but he supposed he was too much a gentleman not to know that something was due for such civility." On this hint, Friendly, who was himself half dead, pulled five guineas out of his pocket, which the great man took, and said he would be so generous to give him ten minutes ; on which one ob- served that many a gentleman had bought ten minutes with a woman dearer, and many other facetious remarks were made unnecessary to be here related. Heartfree was now suffered to retire into a room with his wife, the commander informing him at his entrance that he must be expeditious, for that the rest of the good company would be at the tree before him, and he supposed he was a gentleman of too much breeding to make them waib. This tender wretched couple were now retired for these few minutes, which the commander without carefully measured with his watch ; and Heartfree was mustering all his resolution to part with what his soul so ardently doted on, and to conjure her to support his loss for the sake of her poor infants, and to comfort her with the promise of Friendly on their account ; but all his design was frustrated. Mrs. Heartfree could not support the shock, but again fainted away, and so entirely lost every symptom of life that Heartfree called vehemently for assistance. Friendly rushed first into the room, and was soon followed by many others, and, what was remark- able, one who had unmoved beheld the tender scene between these parting lovers was touched to the quick by the pale looks of the woman, and ran up and down for water, drops, &c. , with the utmost hurry and confusion. The ten minutes were expired, which the commander now hinted ; and seeing nothing offered for the renewal of the term (for indeed Friendly had unhappily emptied his pockets), he began to grow very importunate, and at 162 THE AD VENTURES OB to deliver himself into the hands of justice, which medita- tion ended as the reader will see in the next chapter. CHAPTEK X. GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF THE STEANGE CATASTROPHE OF THE PRECEDING ADVENTURE, WHICH DREW POOR ADAMS INTO FRESH CALAMITIES ; AND WHO THE WOMAN WAS WHO OWED THE PRESERVATION OF HER CHASTITY TO HIS VIC- TORIOUS ARM. The silence of Adams, added to the darkness of the night and loneliness of the place, struck dreadful apprehension into the poor woman's mind ; she began to fear as great an enemy in her deliverer as he had delivered her from ; and as she had not light enough to discover the age of Adams, and the benevolence visible in his countenance, she suspect- ed he had used her as some very honesL men have used their country ; and had rescued her out of the hands of one rifler in order to rifle her himself. Such were the sus- picions she drew from his silence ; but indeed they were ill-grounded. He stood over his vanquished enemy, wisely weighing in his mind the objections which might be made to either of the two methods of proceeding mentioned in the last chapter, his judgment sometimes inclining to the one, and sometimes to the other ; for both seemed to hira so equally advisable and so equally dangerous that prob- ably he would have ended his days, at least two or three of them, on that very spot, before he had taken any resolu- tion ; at length he lifted up his eyes, and spied a light at a distance, to which he instantly addressed himself with Heus tu, traveller, heus tu ! He presently heard several voices, and perceived the light approaching toward him. The persons who attended the light began some to laugh, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 163 others to sing, and others to hollow, at which the woman testified gome fear (for she had concealed her suspicions of the parson himself) ; but Adams said, "Be of good cheer, damsel, and repose thy trust in the same Providence which hath hitherto protected thee, and never will forsake the in- nocent." These people, who now approached, were no other, reader, than a set of young fellows who came to these bushes in pursuit of a diversion which they call bird- batting. This, if you are ignorant of it (as perhaps if thou hast never travelled beyond Kensington, Islington, Hack- ney, or the Borough, thou mayst be), I will inform thee, is performed by holding a large cl api j iet before a lantern, and at the same time beating the bushes ; for the birds, when they are disturbed from their places of rest, or roost, immediately make to the Hght, and so are enticed within the net. Adams immediately told them what' had hap- pened, and desired them to hold the lantern to the face of the man on the ground, for he feared he had smote him fa- tally. But indeed his fears were frivolous ; for the fellow, though he had been stunned by the last blow he received, had long since recovered his senses, and finding himself quit of Adams, had listened attentively to the discourse be- tween him and the young woman, for whose departure he had patiently waited, that he might likewise withdraw himself, having no longer hopes of succeeding in his de-^ sires, which were moreover almost as wpU cooled by Mr. Adams as they could have been by the young woman her- self had he obtained his utmost wish. This fellow, who had a readiness at improving any accident, thought he might now play a better part than that of a dead man ; and ac- cordingly, the moment the candle was held to his face, he leaped up, and laying hold on Adams, cried out, ' ' No, villain, I am not dead, though you and your wicked whore might well think me so, after the barbarous cruelties you have exercised on me. Gentlemen," said he, "you are 164 JONATHAN WILD. evidence against his accomplices. This afforded the happiest opportunity to the justice to satisfy his con- science in relation to Heartfree. He told Fireblood that, if he expected the favor he solicited, it must be on con- dition that he revealed the whole truth to him concern- ing the evidence which he had lately given against a bankrupt, and which some circumstances had induced a suspicion of ; that he might depend on it the truth would be discovered by other means, and gave some oblique hints (a deceit entirely justifiable) that Wild himself had offered such a discovery. The very mention of Wild's name immediately alarmed Fireblood, who did not in the least doubt the readiness of that great man to hang any of the gang when his own interest seemed to require it. He therefore hesitated not a moment, but, having obtained a promise from the justice that he should be accepted as an evidence, he discovered the whole false- hood, and declared he had been seduced by Wild to depose as he had done. The justice, having thus luckily and timely discovered this scene of villainy, alias greatness, lost not a moment in using his utmost endeavors to get the case of the unhappy convict represented to the sovereign, who im- mediately granted him that gracious reprieve which caused such happiness to the persons concerned ; and which we hope we have now accounted for to the satis- faction of the reader. The good magistrate, having obtained this reprieve for Heartfree, thought it incumbent on him to visit him in the prison, and to sound, if possible, the depth of this affair, that, if he should appear as innocent as he n.ow began to conceive him, he might use all imaginable methods to obtain his pardon and enlargement. The next day therefore after that, when the miserable scene above described had passed, he went to Newgate, where he found those three persons, Heartfree, his wife, and Friendly, sitting together. The justice informed JONATHAN WILD. 165 the prisoner of the confession of Fireblood, with the steps which lie had taken upon it. The reader will easily con- ceive the many outward thanks, as well as inward grat- itude, which he received from all three ; but those were of very little consequence to him compared with the secret satisfaction he felt in his mind from reflecting on the preservation of innocence, as he soon after very clearly perceived was the case. When he entered the room Mrs. Heartfree was speak- ing with some earnestness : as he perceived, therefore, he had interrupted her, he begged she would continue her discourse, which, if he prevented by his presence, he desired to depart ; but Heartfree would not suffer it. He said she had been relating some adventures which per- haps might entertain him to hear, and which she rather desired he would hear, as they might serve to illus- trate the foundation on which this falsehood had been built, which had brought on her husband all his misfor- tunes. The justice very gladly consented, and Mrs. Heartfree, at her husband's desire, began the relation from the first renewal of Wild's acquaintance with him ; but, though this recapitulation was necessary for the information of our good magistrate, as it would be useless, and perhaps tedious, to the reader, we shall only repeat that part of her story to which ovXy he is a stranger, beginning with what happened to her after Wild had been turned adrift in the boat by the captain of the French privateer. CHAPTER VII. Mrs. Heartfree relates her adventures, Mrs. Heartfree proceeded thus : " The vengeance which the French captain exacted on that villain (our hero) persuaded me that I was fallen into the hands of a 166 JONATHAN WILD. man of honor and Justice ; nor indeed was it possible for any person to be treated with more respect and civility than I now was ; but this could not mitigate my sorrows when I reflected on the condition in which I had been betrayed to leave all that was dear to me, much less could it produce such an effect when I discovered, as I soon did, that I owed it chiefly to a passion which threat- ened me with great uneasiness, as it quickly appeared to be very violent, and as I was absolutely in the power of the person who possessed it, or was rather possessed by it. I must, however, do him the justice to say my fears carried my suspicions farther than I afterwards found I had any reason to carry them : he did indeed very soon acquaint me with his passion, and used all those gentle methods which frequently succeed with our sex to prevail with me to gratify it ; but never once threatened, nor had the least recourse to force. He did not even once insin- uate to me that I was totally in his power, which I my- self sufficiently saw, and whence I drew the most dreadful apprehensions, well knowing that, as there are some dis- positions so brutal that cruelty adds a zest and savor to their pleasures, so there are others whose gentler inclina- tions are better gratified when they win us by softer methods to comply with their desires ; yet that even these may be often compelled by an unruly passion to have recourse at last to the means of violence, when they de- spair of success from persuasion ; but I was happily the captive of a better man. My conqueror was one of those over whom vice hath a limited jurisdiction ; and, though he was too easily prevailed on to sin, he was proof against any temptation to villainy. " We had been two days almost totally becalmed, when, a brisk gale rising as we were in sight of Dunkirk, we saw a vessel making full sail towards us. The cap- tain of the privateer was so strong that he apprehended no danger but from a man-of-war, which the sailors dis- cerned this not to be. He therefore struck his colors, and JONATHAN WILD. 16^ furled his sails as much as possible, in order to lie by and expect her, hoping she might be a prize." (Here Heartr free smiling, his wife stopped and inquired the cause. He told her it was from her using the sea-terms so aptly : she laughed, and answered he would wonder less at this when he heard the long time she had been on board : and then proceeded.) " This vessel now came alongside of us, and hailed us, having perceived that on which we were aboard to be of her own country ; they begged us not to put into Dunkirk, but to accompany them in their pursuit of a large English merchantman, whom we should easily overtake, and both together as easily conquer. Our captain immediately consented to this proposition, and ordered all his sail to be crowded. This was most unwel- come news to me ; however, he comforted me all he could by assuring me I had nothing to fear, that he would be so far from offering the least rudeness to me himself, that he would, at the hazard of his life, protect me from it. This assurance gave me all the consolation Vi'hich my pres- ent circumstances and the dreadful apprehensions I had on your dear account would admit. (At which words the tenderest glances passed on both sides between the hus- band and wife). " We sailed near twelve hours, when we came in sight of the ship we were in pursuit of, and which we should probably have soon come up with, had not a very thick mist ravished her from our eyes. This mist continued several hours, and when it cleared up we discovered our companion at a great distance from us ; but what gave us (I mean the captain and his crew) the greatest uneasi- ness was the sight of a very large ship within a mile of us, which presently saluted us with a gun, and now appeared to be a third-rate English man-of-war. Our captain declared the impossibility of either fighting or escaping, and accordingly struck without waiting for the broadside which was preparing for us, and which perhaps would have prevented me from the happiness I now 168 JONATHAN WILD. enjoy." This occasioned Heartfree to change color ; his wife therefore passed hastily to circumstances of a more smiling complexion. " I greatly rejoiced at this event, as I thought it would not only restore me to the safe possession of my jewels, but to what I value beyond all the treasures of the uni- verse. My expectation, however, of both these was some- what crossed for the present ; as to the former, I was told they should be carefully preserved ; but that 1 must prove my right to them before I could expect their restora- tion, which, if I mistake not, the captain did not very eagerly desire I should be able to accomplish ; and as to the latter, I was acquainted that I should be put on board the first ship which they met on her way to England, but that they were proceeding to the West Indies. " I had not been long on board the man-of-war before I discovered just reason rather to lament than to rejoice at the exchange of my captivity ; for such I concluded my present situation to be. I had now another lover in the captain of this Englishman, and much rougher and less gallant than the Frenchman had been. He used me with scarce common civility, as indeed he showed very little to any other person, treating his oflBcers little better than a man of no great good breeding would exert to his meanest servant, and that too on some very irritating provocation. As for me, he addressed me with the insol- ence of a basha to a Circassian slave ; he talked to me with the loose license in which the most profligate liber- tines converse with harlots, and which women abandoned only in a moderate degree detest and abhor. He often kissed me with very rude familiarity, and one day attempted farther brutality; when a gentleman on board, and who was in my situation, that is, had been taken by a privateer and was retaken, rescued me from his hands, for which the captain confined him, though he was not under his command, two days in irons ; when he was released (for I was not suffered to visit him in his JONATHAN WILD. 169 confinement) 1 went to him and tlianlced him with the utmost acknowledgment for what he had done and suffered on my account. The gentleman behaved to me in the handsomest manner on this occasion ; told me he was ashamed of the high sense I seemed to entertain of so small an obligation of an action to which his duty as a Christian and his honor as a man obliged him. From this time I lived in great familiarity with this man, whom I regarded as my protector, which he professed himself ready to be on all occasions, expressing the ut- most abhorrence of the captain's brutality, especially that shown towards me, and the tenderness of a parent for the preservation of my virtue, for which I was not myself more solicitous than he appeared. He was, in- deed, the only man 1 had hitherto met since my unhappy departure who did not endeavor by all his looks, words, and actions, to assure me he had a liking to my unfortu- nate person ; the rest seeming desirous of sacrificing the little beauty they complimented to their desires, without the least consideration of the ruin which I earnestly repre- sented to them they were attempting to bring on me and on my future repose. " I now passed several days pretty free from the cap- tain's molestation, till one fatal night." Here, perceiving Heartfree grew pale, she comforted him by an assurance that Heaven had preserved her chastity, and again had restored her unsullied to his arms. She continued thus : " Perhaps I gave it a wrong epithet in the word fatal ; but a wretched night I am sure I may call it, for ho woman who came off victorious was, I believe, ever in greater danger. One night I say, having drank his spirits high with punch, in company with the purser, who was the only man in the ship he admitted to his table, the cap- tain sent for me into his cabin ; whither, though unwill- ingly, I was obliged to go. We were no sooner alone together than he seized me by the hand, and, after affronting my ears with discourse which I am unable to 170 JONATHAN WILD. repeat, he swore a great oath that his passion was to be dallied with no longer ; that I must not expect to treat him in the manner to which a set of blockhead landmen submitted. * None of your coquette airs, therefore, with me, madame,' said he, 'for I am resolved to have you this night. No struggling nor squalling, for both will be impertinent. The first man who offers to come in here, I will have his skin flay'd off at the gangway.' He then attempted to pull me violently towards his bed. I threw myself on my knees, and with tears and entreaties be- sought his compassion ; but this was, I found, to no pur- pose. I then had recourse to threats, and endeavored to frighten him with the consequence ; but neither had this, though it seemed to stagger him more than the other method, sufficient force to deliver me. At last a stratagem came into my head, of which my perceiving him reel gave me the first hint ; I entreated a moment's reprieve only, when, collecting all the spirits I could muster, I put on a constrained air of gaiety, and told him with an affected laugh, he was the roughest lover I had ever met with, and that I believed I was the first woman he had ever paid his addresses to. 'Addresses,' said he ; ' d — n your addresses ! I want to undress you.' I then begged him to let us drink some punch together ; for that I loved a can as well .as himself, and never would grant the favor to any man till I had drank a hearty glass with him. ' Oh ! ' said he, ' if that be all, you shall have punch enough to drown yourself in.' At which words he rang the bell, and ordered in a gallon of that liquor. I was in the meantime obliged to suffer his nauseous kisses, and some rudenesses which I had great difficulty to restrain within moderate bounds. When the punch came in he took up the bowl and drank my health ostentatiously, in such a quantity that considerably advanced my scheme. I folio ^ved him with bumpers as fast as possible, and was myself obliged to drink so much that at another time it would have staggered my own reason, but at present it JONATHAN WILL. Itl did not affect me. At length, perceiving him very far gone, I watched an opportunity, and ran out of the cabin, resolving to seek protection of the sea if I could find no other ; but Heaven was now graciously pleased to relieve me ; for in his attempt to pursue me he reeled backwards, and, falling down the cabin stairs, he dislocated his shoulder and so bruised himself that I was not only pre- served that night from any danger of my intended rav- isher, but the accident threw him into a fever which endangered his life, and whether he ever recovered or no I am not certain ; for during his delirious fits the eldest lieutenant commanded the ship. This was a virtuous and brave fellow, who had been twenty -five years in that post without being able to obtam a ship, and had seen several boys, the bastards of noblemen, put over his head. One day while the ship remained under his command an Eng- lish vessel bound to Cork passed by ; myself and my friend, who had formerly lain two days in irons on my account, went on board this ship with the leave of the good lieutenant, who made us such presents as he was able of provisions, and, congratulating me on my delivery from a danger to which none of the ship's crew had been strangers, he kindly wished us both a safe voyage. CHAPTER VIII. Jn which Mrs. Heartfree continues the relation of her adventures. "The first evening after we were aboard this vessel, which was a brigantine, we being then at no very great distance from the Madeiras, the most violent storm arose from the northwest, in which we presently lost both our masts, and indeed death now presented itself as inevitable to us : I need not tell my Tommy what were then my thoughts. Our danger was so great that the captain of the ship, a professed atheist, betook himself to prayers, and W— 12 172 JONATHAN WILD. the whole crew, abandoning themselves for lost, fell with the utmost eagerness to the emptying a cask of brandy, not one drop of which they swore should be polluted with salt water. I observed here my old friend displayed less courage than I expected from him. He seemed entirely swallowed up in despair. But Heaven be praised ! we were at last all preserved. The storm, after above eleven hours' continuance, began to abate, and by degrees en- tirely ceased, but left us still rolling at the mercy of the waves, which carried us at their own pleasure to the southeast a vast number of leagues. Our crew were all dead drunk with the brandy which they had taken such care to preserve from the sea ; but, indeed, had they been awake, their labor would have been of very little service, as we had lost all our rigging, o ur brigantine being reduced to a naked hulk only. In this condition we floated about thirty hours, till in the midst of a very dark night we spied a light, which, seeming to approach us, grew so large that our sailors concluded it to be the lantern of a man-of-war, but when we were cheering ourselves with the hopes of our deliverance from this wretched situation, on a sudden, to our great concern, the light entirely dis- appeared, and left us in a despair increased by the remem- brance of those pleasing imaginations with which we had entertained our minds during its appearance. The rest of the night we passed in melancholy conjectures on the light which had deserted us, which the major part of the sailors concluded to be a meteor. In this distress we had one comfort, which was a plentiful store of provision ; this so supported the spirits of the sailors, that they declared had they but a sufficient quantity of brandy they cared not whether they saw land for a month to come ; but indeed we were much nearer it than we imagined, as we perceived at break of day. One of the most knowing of the crew declared we were near the continent of Africa ; but when we were within three leagues of it a second violent storm arose from the north, so that we again gave over all JONATHAN WILD. 173 hopes of safety. This storm was not quite so outrageous as the former, but of much longer continuance, for it lasted near three days, and drove us an immense number of leagues to the south. We were withm a league of the shore, expecting every moment our ship to be dashed to pieces, when the tempest ceased all on a sudden ; but the waves still continued to roll like mountains, and before the sea recovered its calm motion our ship was thrown so near the land that the captain ordered out his boat, declaring he had scarce any hopes of saving her ; and indeed we had not quitted her many minutes before we saw the justice of his apprehensions, for she struck against a rock and immediately sunk. The behavior of the sailors on this occasion very much affected me ; they beheld their ship perish with the tenderness of a lover or a parent; they spoke of her as the fondest husband would of his wife ; and many of them, who seemed to have no tears in their composition, shed them plentifully at her sinking. The captain himself cried out, ' Go thy way, charming Molly, the sea never devoured a lovelier morsel. If I have fifty vessels, I shall never love another like thee. Poor slut ! I shall remember thee to my dying day.' Well, the boat now conveyed us all sate to shore, where we landed with very little diflQculty. It was now about noon, and the rays of the sun, which descended almost perpendicular on our heads, were extremely hot and troublesome. However, we traveled through this ex- treme heat about five miles over a plain. This brought us to a vast wood, which extended itself as far as we could see both to the right and left, and seemed to me to put an entire end to our progress. Here we decreed to rest and dine on the provision which we had brought from the ship, of which we had sufficient for very few meals : our boat being so overloaded with people that we had very little room for luggage of any kind. Our repast was salt pork broiled, which the keenness of hunger made so de- licious to my companions that they fed very heartily upon 174 JONATHAN WILD, it. As for myself, the fatigue of my body and the vexa- tion of my mind had so thoroughly weakened me, that I was almost entirely deprived of appetite ; and the utmost dexterity of the most accomplished French cook would have been ineffectual had he endeavored to tempt me with delicacies. I thought myself very little a gainer by my late escape from the tempest, by which I seemed only to have exchanged the element in which I was presently to die. When our company had sufficiently, and indeed very plentifully, feasted themselves, they resolved to enter the wood and endeavor to pass it, in expectation of finding some inhabitants, at least some provision. We proceeded therefore in the following order : one man in the front with a hatchet, to clear our way, and two others followed him with guns, to protect the rest from wild beasts ; then walked the rest of our company, and last of all the captain himself, being armed likewise with a gun, to defend us from any attack behind — in the rear, I think you call it. And thus our whole company, being four- teen in number, traveled on till night overtook us, without seeing anything unless a few birds and some very in- significant animals. We rested all night under the covert of some trees, and indeed we very little wanted shelter at that season, the heat in the day being the only inclemency we had to combat with in this climate. I cannot help telling you my old friend lay still nearest to me on the ground, and declared he would be my protector should any of the sailors offer rudeness ; but I can acquit them of any such attempt ; nor was I ever affronted by any one, more than with a coarse expression, proceeding rather from the roughness and ignorance of their education than from any abandoned principle, or want of humanity. " We had now proceeded very little way on our next day's march when one of the sailors, having skipped nim- bly up a hill, with the assistance of a speaking trumpet informed us that he saw a town a very little way off. This news so comforted me, and gave me such strength, JONATHAN WILD. 175 as well as spirits, that, with the help of my old friend and another, who suffered me to lean on them, I, with much difficulty, attained the summit; but was so absolutely overcome in climbing- it, that I had no longer sufficient strength to support my tottering limbs, and was obliged to lay myself again on the ground ; nor could they pre- vail on me to undertake descending through a very thick wood into a plain, at the end of which indeed appeared some houses, or rather huts, but at a much greater dis- tance than the sailor had assured us ; the little way, as he had called it, seeming to me full twenty miles, nor was it, I believe, much less." CHAPTER IX. Containing incidents very surprising, " The captain declared he would, without delay, pro- ceed to the town before him ; in which resolution he was seconded by all the crew ; but when I could not be per- suaded, nor was I able to travel any farther before I had rested myself, my old friend protested he would not leave me, but would stay behind as my guard ; and, when I had refreshed myself with a little repose, he would attend me to the town, which this captain promised he would not leave before he had seen us. " They were no sooner departed than (having first thanked my protector for his care of me) I resigned my- self to sleep, which immediately closed my eyelids, and would probably have detained me very long in his gentle dominion, had I not been awaked with a squeeze by the hand of my guard, which I at first thought intended to alarm me with the danger of some wild beast ; but I soon perceived it arose from a softer motive, and that a gentle swain was the only wild beast I had to apprehend. He began now to disclose his passion in the strongest mau- 176 JONATHAN WILD. ner imaginable, indeed, with a warmth rather beyond that of both my former lovers, but as yet without any attempt of absolute force. On my side, remonstrances were made in more bitter exclamations and revilings than I had used to any, that villain "Wild excepted. I told him he was the basest and most treacherous wretch alive ; and his having cloaked his iniquitous designs under the appearance of vir- tue and friendship, added an ineffable degree of horror to them ; that 1 detested him of all mankind the most j and could I be brought to yield to prostitution, he should be the last to enjoy the ruins of my honor. He suffered him- self not to be provoked by this language, but only changed his method of solicitation from flattery to bribery. He unripped the lining of his waistcoat, and pulled forth sev- eral jewels ; these, he said, he had preserved from infinite danger to the happiest purpose, if I could be won by them. I rejected them often with the utmost indignation, till at last, casting my eye, rather by accident than design, on a diamond necklace, a thought like lightning shot through my mind, and, in an instant, I remembered that this was the very necklace you had sold the cursed count, the cause of all our misfortunes. The confusion of ideas into which his surprise hurried me prevented me reflecting on the villain who then stood before me ; but the first recollec- tion presently told me it could be no other than the count himself, the wicked tool of Wild's barbarity. Good Heav- ens ! what was then my condition ! How shall I describe the tumult of passions which then labored in my breast? However, as I was happily unknown to him, the least suspicion on his side was altogether impossible. He im- puted, therefore, the eagerness with which I gazed on the jewels to a very wrong cause, and endeavored to put as much additional softness into his countenance as he was able. My fears were a little quieted, and I was resolved to be very liberal of promises, and hoped so thoroughly to persuade him of my venality that he might, without any doubt, be drawn in to wait the captain and crew's re- JONATHAN WILD. 177 turn, who would, I was very certain, not only preserve me from his violence, but secure the restoration of what you had been so cruelly robbed of. But, alas ! I was mis- taken." Mrs. Heartfree, again perceiving symptoms of the utmost disquietuae in her husband's countenance, cried out, " My dear, don't you apprehend any harm — but, to deliver you as soon as possible from your anxiety — when he perceived I declined the warmth of his ad- dresses he begged me to consider ; he changed at once his voice and features, and, in a very different tone from what he had hitherto affected, he swore I should not de- ceive him as I had the captain ; that fortune had kindly thrown an opportunity in his way which he was resolved not foolishly to lose ; and concluded with a violent oath that he was determined to enjoy me that moment, and therefore I knew the consequence of resistance. He then caught me in his arms, and began such rude attempts, that I screamed out with all the force I could, though I had so little hope of being rescued, when there suddenly rushed forth from a thicket a creature, which, at his first appearance, and in the hurry of spirits I then was, I did not take for a man ; but, indeed, had he been the fiercest of wild beasts, I should have rejoiced at his devouring us both. I scarce perceived he had a musket in his hand be- fore he struck my ravisher such a blow with it that he felled him at my feet. He then advanced with a gentle air towards me, and told me in French he was extremely glad he had been luckily present to my assistance. He was naked, except his middle and his feet, if I can call a body so which was covered with hair almost equal to any beast whatever. Indeed, his appearance was so horrid in my eyes, that the friendship he had shown me, as well as his courteous behavior, could not entirely remove the dread I had conceived from his figure. I believe he saw this very visibly ; for he begged me not to be frightened, since, whatever accident had brought me thither, I should baive reason to thank Heaven for meeting him, at whose 178 JONATHAN WILD. hands I mig-ht assure myself of the utmost civility and protection. In the midst of all this consternation, I had spirits enough to take up the casket of jewels which the villain, in falling, had dropped out of his hands, and con- veyed it into my pocket. Hy deliverer, telling me that I seemed extremely weak and faint, desired me to refresh myself at his little hut, which, he said, was hard by. If his demeanor had been less kind and obliging, my desper- ate situation must have lent me confidence ; for sure the alternative could not be doubtful, whether I should rather trust this man, who, notwithstanding his savage outside, expressed so much devotion to serve me, which at least I was not certain of the falsehood of, or should abide with one whom I so perfectly well knew to be an accomplished vUlain. I therefore committed myself to his guidance, though with tears in my eyes, and begged him to have compassion on my innocence, which was absolutely in his power. He said, the treatment he had been witness of, which he supposed was from one who had broken his trust towards me, sufficiently justified my suspicion ; but begged me to dry my eyes, and he would soon convince me that I was with a man of different sentiments. The kind accents which accompanied these words gave me some comfort, which was assisted by the re-possession of our jewels by an accident strongly savoring of the dispo- sition of Providence in my favor. " We left the villain weltering in his blood, though beginning to recover a little motion, and walked together to his hut, or rather cave, for it was under ground, on the side of a hill ; the situation was very pleasant, and from its mouth we overlooked a large plain and the town I had before seen. As soon as I entered it, he desired me to sit down on a bench of earth, which served him for chairs, and then laid before me some fruits, the wild product of that country, one or two of which had an ex- cellent flavor. He likewise produced some baked flesh, a Jittle resembling that of venison. He then brought forth JONATHAN WILD. 179 a bottle of brandy, which he said had remained with him ever since his setthng' there, now above thirty years, during all which time he had never opened it, his only liquor being water ; that he had reserved this bottle as a cordial in sickness ; but, he thanked Heaven, he had never yet had occasion for it. He then acquainted me that he was a hermit, that he had been formerly cast away on that coast, with his wife, whom he dearly loved, but could not preserve from perishing ; on which account he had resolved never to return to France, which was his native country, but to devote himself to prayer and a holy life, placing all his hopes in the blessed expectation of meeting that dear woman again in Heaven, where, he was convinced, she was now a saint and an interceder for him. He said he had exchanged a watch with the king of that country, whom he described to be a very just and good man, for a gun, some powder, shot, and ball, with which he sometimes provided himself food, but more generally used it in defending himself against wild beasts ; so that his diet was chiefly of the vegetable kind. He told me many more circumstances, which I may relate to you hereafter : but, to be as concise as possible at present, he at length greatly comforted me by promising to con- duct me to a seaport, where I might have an oppor- tunity to meet with some vessels trafficking for slaves ; and whence I might once more commit myself to that element which, thoughrl had already suffered so much on it, 1 must again trust to put me in possession of all I lovea. " The character he gave me of the inhabitants of the town we saw below us, and of their king, made me desirous of being conducted thither; especially as I very much wished to see the captain and sailors, who had behaved very kindly to me, and with whom, notwith- standing all the civil behavior of the hermit, I was rather easier in my mind than alone with this single man ; but he dissuaded me greatly from attempting such a walk 180 JONATHAN WILD. till I had recruited my spirits witii rest, desiring- me to repose myself on his couch or bank, saying that he him- self would retire without the cave, where he would re- main as my guard. I accepted this kind proposal, but it was long before I could procure any slumber ; however, at length, weariness prevailed over my fears, and I en- joyed several hours' sleep. When I awaked I found my faithful sentinel on his post and ready at my summons. This behavior infused some confidence into me, and I now repeated my request that he would go with me to the town below ; but he answered, it would be better advised to take some repast before I undertook the journey, which I should find much longer than it appeared. I consented, and he set forth a greater variety of fruits than before, of which I ate very plentifully. My collation being ended, I renewed the mention of my walk, but he still persisted in dissuading me, telling me that I was not yet strong enough ; that I could repose myself nowhere with greater safety than in his cave ; and that, for his part, he could have no greater happiness than that of at- tending me, adding, with a sigh, it was a happiness he should envy any other more than all the gifts of fortune. You may imagine I began now to entertain suspicions ; but he presently removed all doubt by throwing himself at my feet and expressing the warmest passion for me. I should have now sunk with despair had he not accom- panied these professions with the Hiost vehement protest- ations that he would never offer me any other force but that of entreaty, and that he would rather die the most cruel death by my coldness than gain the highest bliss by becoming the occasion of a tear of sorrow to these bright eyes, which he said were stars, under whose benign in- fluence alone he could enjoy, or indeed suffer life." She was repeating many more compliments he made her, when a horrid uproar, which alarmed the whole gate, put a stop to her narration at present. It is impossible for me to give the reader a better idea of the noise which JONATHAN WILD. 181 now arose than by desiring him to imagine I had the hundred tongues the poet once wished for, and was vociferating from them all at once, by holloing, scolding, crying, swearing, bellowing, and, in short, by every dif- ferent articulation which is within the scope of the human organ. CHAPTER X. A horrible uproar in the Oate. But however great an idea the reader may hence con- ceive of this uproar, he will think the occasion more than adequate to it when he is informed that our hero (I blush to name it) had discovered an injury done to his honor, and that in the tenderest point. In a word, reader (for thou must know it, though it give thee the greatest horror imaginable), he had caught Fireblood in the arms of his lovely Lsetitia. As the generous bull who, having long depastured among a number of cows, and thence contracted an opinion that these cows are all his own property, if he beholds another bull bestride a cow within his walks, he roars aloud, and threatens instant vengeance with his horns, till the whole parish are alarmed with his bellow- ing ; not with less noise nor less dreadful menaces did the fury of Wild burst forth and terrify the whole gate. Long time did rage render his voice inarticulate to the hearer ; as when, at a visiting day, fifteen or sixteen or perhaps twice as many females, of delicate but shrill pipes, ejaculate all at once on different subjects, all is sound only, the harmony entirely melodious indeed, but conveys no idea to our ears ; but at length, when reason began to get the better of his passion, which latter, being deserted by his breath, began a little to retreat, the fol- lowing accents leapt over the hedge of his teeth, or rather the ditch of his gums, whence those hedgestakes had long 182 JONATHAN WILD. since by a patten been displaced in battle with an amazon of Drury. * — " Man of honor ! doth this become a friend ? Could I have expected such a breach of all the laws of honor from thee, whom. I had taught to walk in its paths ? Hadst thou chosen any other way to injure my confidence I could have forgiven it ; but this is a stab in the tender- est part, a wound never to be healed, an injury never to be repaired ; for it is not only the loss of an agreeable companion, of the affection of a wife dearer to my soul than life itself, it is not this loss alone I lament; this loss is accompanied with disgrace and with dishonor. The blood of the Wilds, which hath run with such uninter- rupted purity through so many generations, this blood is fouled, is contaminated: hence flow my tears, hence arises my grief. This is the injury never to be redressed, nor ever to be with honor forgiven." — " M in a bandbox! " answered Fireblood ; " here is a noise about your honor! If the mischief done to your blood be aU you complain of, I am sure you complain of nothing ; for my blood is as good as yours." — "You have no conception," replied Wild, " of the tenderness of honor; you know not how nice and delicate it is in both sexes ; so delicate that the least breath of air which rudely blows on it destroys it." — "I will prove from your own words," says Fireblood, "I have not wronged your honor. Have you not often told me that the honor of a man consisted in receiving no affront from his own sex, and that of woman in receiving no kindness from ours ? Now sir, if I have given you no affront, how have I injured your honor?" — "But doth not everything," cried Wild, " of the wife belong to the husband ? A married man, therefore, hath his wife's honor as well as his own, and by injuring hers you injure his. How cruelly you have hurt me in this tender part I need not repeat ; the whole gate knows it, and the world shall. I will apply to Doctors' Commons for my redress * The beginning- of this ipeech is lost. JONATHAN WILD. 183 against her ; I will shake off as much of my dishonor as I can by parting with her ; and as for you, expect to hear of me in Westminster-hall ; the modern method of repair- ing these breaches and resenting this affront."—"!) — n your eyes ? " cries Fireblood; " I fear you not, nor do I be- lieve a word you say." — "Nay, if you affront me person- ally, "say s Wild ' 'an other sort of resentment is prescribed. ' ' At which word, advancing to Fireblood, he presented him with a box on the ear, which the youth immediately returned ; and now our hero and his friend fell to boxing, though with some difficulty, both being encumbered with the chains which they wore between their legs: a few blows passed on both sides before the gentlemen who stood by stepped in and parted the combatants; and now, both parties having whispered each other, that, if they outlived the ensuing sessions and escaped the tree, one should give and the other should receive satisfaction in single combat, they separated and the gate soon recov- ered its former tranquility. Mrs. Heartfree was then desired by the justice and her husband both, to conclude her story, which she did in the words of the next chapter. CHAPTEE XI. Th^ conclusion of Mrs. Heartfree^s adventures. " If I mistake not, I was interrupted just as I was be- ginning to repeat some of the compliments made me by the hermit."—" Just as you had finished them, I believe, madam," said the justice. — "Very well, sir," said she; "I am sure I have no pleasure in the repetition. He concluded then with telling me, though I was in his eyes the most charming woman in the world, and might tempt a saint to abandon the ways of holiness, yet my beauty inspired him with a much tenderer affection towards me 184 JONATHAN WILD. tJian to purchase any satisfaction of his own ilosiros with my misery ; if therefore I could be so cruel to him to I'O- ject his honest and sincere address, nor could submit to a solitary life with one who would onileavor by all possi- ble means to make nie happy, I had no force to dread ; for tliat I was as much at my liberty as if 1 was in Finance, or England, or a uy other free count ry . I repulsed him with the same civilit^y with which he advanced ; ami told him that, as he professed g-reat. rei;-ard to religion, I was convinced he would cease from all farther solicita- tion when 1 informed him that., if I had no other objec- tion, my own innoeonco would not admit of my hearing him on tliis subject, for tlia 1 1 was married . He startini a little at that word, and was for some time silent ; but, at lengtli recovering- himself, ho began to urge tlie vincer- tainty of my husband's being alive, and the probability of the contrary. He then spoke of marriage as of a civil policy only, on which lioad he urged many arguments not wortli repeating, and was growing so very eagoi- and importunate tliat 1 know not whither his passion might have hurried him had not three of tlio sailors, well armed, appeared at that instant in sight of the cave. I no sooner saw them than, exulting witli the utmost inward joy, I told him my companions were come for me, and that I must now take m;>' leave of him ; assuring him that I would always remember, with the most grateful ac- knowledgment, the favors I had reeeixed at his hands. He fetched a very heavy sigh, and, sciueeziiig luo tenderly by the hand, he saluted my lips with a little more eager- ness than the European salutations admit of, and told mo he should likewise remember my arrival at his cave to the last day of his life, adding, O tliat he could there spend the whole in the company of one whose bright ej'es had kindled — but I know yoi^ will think, sir, that wo wo- men love to repeat the compliments matle iis, 1 will there- fore omit them. In a word, the sailors being now ar- rived, I quitted him with some compassion for tho reluct- JONATHAN WILD. 185 ance with which he parted from me, and went forward with my companions. " We had proceeded taut a very few paces taefore one of the sailors said to his comrades, ' D — n me. Jack, who kuows whether yon fellow hath not some good flip in his cave ?" I innocently answered, the poor wretch had only one bottle of tarandy. ' Hath he so ?' cries the sailor; ' 'Fore George, we will taste it;' and so saying they im- mediately returned hack, and myself with them. We found the poor man prostrate on the ground, expressing all the symptoms of misery and lamentation. I told him in French (for the sailors could not speak that language) what they wanted. He pointed to the place where the taottle was deposited, saying they were welcome to that and whatever else he had, and added he cared not if they took his life also. The sailors searched the whole cave, where findmg nothing more which they deenaed worth their taking, they walked off with the bottle, and, im- mediately emptying it without offering me a drop, they proceeded with me towards the town. " In our way I observed one whisper another, while he kept his eye steadfastly fixed on me. This gave me some uneasiness ; but the other answered, ' No, d — n me, the captain will never forgive us : besides, we have enough of it among the black women, and, in my mind, one color is as good as another. This was enough to give me violent apprehensions ; but I heard no more of that kind till we came to the town, where, in about six hours, I arrived in safety. " As soon as I came to the captain he inquired what was become of my friend, meaning the villainous count. When he was informed by me of what had happened, he wished me heartily joy of my delivery, and, expressing the utmost abhorrence of such baseness, swore if ever he met him he would cut his throat ; taut, indeed, we both concluded that he had died of the blow which the hermit had given him. 186 JONATHAN WILD. " I was now introduced to the chief magistrate of this country, who was desirous of seeing me. I will give you a short description of him. He was chosen (as is the cus- tom there) for his superior bravery and wisdom. His power is entirely absolute during his continuance ; but, on the first deviation from equity and justice, he is liable to be deposed and punished by the people, the elders of whom, once a year, assemble to examine into his conduct. Besides the danger which these examinations, which are very strict, expose him to, his ofiice is of such care and trouble that nothing but that restless love of power so predominant in the mind of man could make it the object of desire, for he is indeed the only slave of all the natives of this country. He is obliged, in time of peace, to hear the complaint of every person in his dominions, and to render him justice ; for which purpose everyone may de- mand an audience of him, unless during the hour which he is allowed for dinner, when he sits alone at the table, and is attended in the most public manner with more than European ceremony. This is done to create an awe and respect towards him in the eye of the vulgar ; but lest it should elevate him too much in his own opinion, in order to his humiliation he receives every evening in pri- vate, from a kind of beadle, a gentle kick on his posteriors ; besides which he wears a ring in his nose somewhat re- sembling that we ring our pigs with, and a chain round his neck not unlike that worn by our aldermen ; both which I suppose to be emblematical, but heard not [the reasons of either assigned. There are many more par- ticularities among these people which, when I have an opportunity, I may relate to you. The second day after my return from court one of his officers, whom they call ScHACH PiMPACH, waited upon me, and, by a French in- terpreter who lives here, informed me that the chief mag- istrate liked my person, and offered me an immense present if I would suffer him to enjoy it (this is, it seems, their common form of making love). I rejected the pres- JONATHAN WILD. 187 ent, and never heard any further soUcitation ; for; as it is no shame for women here to consent at the first proposal, so they never receive a second. " I had resided in this town a week when the captain informed me tliat a number of slaves, who had been taken captives in war, were to be guarded to the seaside, where they were to be sold to the merchants who traded in them to America ; that if I would embrace this opportunity I might assure myself of finding a passage to America, and thence to England ; acquainting me at the same time that he himself intended to go with them. I readily agreed to accompany him. The chief, being advised of our designs, sent for us both to court, and, without mention- ing one word of love to me, having presented me with a very rich jewel, of less value, he said, than my chastity, took a very civil leave, recommending me to the care of Heaven, and ordering us a large supply of provisions for our journey. "We were provided with mules for ourselves and what we carried with us, and in nine days reached the seashore, where we found an English vessel ready to receive both us and the slaves. We went aboard it, and sailed the next day with a fair wind for New England, where I hoped to get an immediate passage to the Old : but Prov- idence was kinder than my expectation ; for the third day after we were at sea we met an English man-of-war homeward bound ; the captain of it was a very good- natured man, and agreed to take me on board. I accord- ingly took my leave of my old friend, the master of the shipwrecked vessel, who went on to New England, whence he intended to pass to Jamaica, where his owners lived. I was now treated with great civility, had a little cabin assigned me, and dined every day at the captain's table, who was indeed a very gallant man, and, at first, made me a tender of his affections ; but, when he found me resolutely bent to preserve myself pure and entire for the best of husbands, he grew cooler in his addresses, and W-13 188 JONATHAN WILD. soon behaved in a manner very pleasing to me, regarding my sex only so far as to pay me a defei-ence, which is very agreeable to us all. " To conclude my story : I met with no adventure in this passage at all worth relating till my landing at Gravesend, whence the captain brought me in his own boat to the tower. In a short hour after my arrival we had that meeting which, however dreadful at first, will, I now hope, by the good offices of the best of men, whom Heaven forever bless, end in our perfect happiness, and be a strong instance of what I am persuaded is the surest truth, THAT PROVIDENCE WILL SOONER OR LATER PROCURE THE FELICITY OF THE VIRTUOUS AND INNOCENT, Mrs. Heartfree thus ended her speech, having before delivered to her husband the jewels which the count had robbed him of, and that presented her by the African chief, which last was of immense value. The good magistrate was sensibly touched at her narrative, as well on the consideration of the sufferings she had herself undergone as for those of her husband, which he had him- self been innocently the instrument of bringing upon him. That worthy man, however, much rejoiced in what he had already done for his preservation, and promised to labor with his utmost interest and industry to procure the abso- lute pardon, rather of his sentence than of his guilt, which he now plainly discovered was a barbarous and false imputation. CHAPTER XII. The history returns to the contemplation of greatness. But we have already, perhaps, detained our reader too long in this relation from the consideration of our hero, who daily gave the most exalted proofs of greatness in cajoling the prigs, and in exactions on the debtors ; which latter now grew so great, i.e., corrupted in their morals, JONATHAN WILD. 189 that they spoke with the utmost contempt of -what the vulgar call honesty. The greatest character among them was that of a pickpocket, or, in truer language, a file ; and the only censure was want of dexterity. As to vir- tue, goodness, and such like, they were the objects of mirth and derision, and all Newgate was a complete col- lection of prigs, every man being desirous to pick his neighbor's pocket, and every one was as sensible that his neighbor was as ready to pick his ; so that (which is almost incredible) as great roguery daily was committed within the walls of Newgate as without. The glory resulting from these actions of Wild prob- ably animated the envy of his enemies against him. The day of his trial now approached ; for which, as Socrates did, he prepared himself ; but not weakly and foolishly, like that philosopher, with patience and resignation, but with a good number of false witnesses. However, as success is not always proportioned to the wisdom of him who endeavors to attain it, so are we more sorry than ashamed to relate that our hero was, notwithstanding his utmost caution and prudence, convicted, and sentenced to a death which, when we consider not only the great men who have suffered it, but the much larger number of tliose whose highest honor it hath been to merit it, we cannot call otherwise than honorable. Indeed those who have unluckily missed it seem all their days to have labored In vain to attain an end which Fortune, for rea- sons only known to herself, hath thought proper to deny them. Without any farther preface then, our hero was sentenced to be hanged by the neck: but, whatever was to be now his fate, he might console himself that he had perpetrated what Nee Judicis ira, nee ignis, Nee poterit f errum, nee edax abolere vetustas. For my own part, I confess, I look on this death of hang- ing to be as proper for a hero as any other ; and I solemnly declare that had Alexander the Great been 190 JONATHAN WILD. hanged it would not in the least have diminished my re- spect to his memory. Provided a hero in his life doth but execute a sufElcient quantity of mischief ; provided he be but well and heartily cursed by the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the oppressed (the sole rewards, as many authors have bitterly lamented both in prose and verse, of greatness, i.e. priggism), I think it avails little of what nature his death be, whether it be by the axe, the halter, or the sword. Such names will be always sure of living to posterity, and of enjoying that fame which they so gloriously and eagerly coveted ; for according to a GBEAT dramatic poet. Fame Not more survives from good than evil deeds. Th' aspiring youth that fired Ephesian dome Outlives in fame the pious fool who rais'd it. Our hero now suspected that the malice of his enemies would overpower him. He therefore betook himself to that true support of greatness in affliction, a bottle ; by means of which he was enabled to curse, swear and bully and brave his fate. Other comfort indeed he had not much, for not a single friend ever came near him. His wife, whose trial was deferred to the next sessions, visited him but once, when she plagued, tormented, and up- braided him so cruelly, that he forbade the keeper ever to admit her again. The ordinary of Newgate had fre- quent conferences with him, and 'greatly would it em- bellish our history could we record all which that good man delivered on these occasions; but unhappily we could procure only the substance of a single conference, which was taken down in shorthand by one who over- heard it. We shall transcribe it, therefore, exactly in the same form and words we received it ; nor can we help regarding it as one of the most curious pieces which either ancient or modern history hath recorded. JONATHAN WILD. 191 CHAPTER XIII. A dialogue, between the ordinary of Newgate and Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great ; in which the subjects of death, immortality, and other grave matters, are very learnedly handled by the former. Ordinary. Good morrow to you, sir ; I hope you rested well last night. Jonathan. D — n'd ill ; sir. I dreamt so confoundedly of hanging, that it disturbed my sleep. Ordinary. Fie upon it ! You should be more resigned. I wish you would make a little better use of those instruc- tions which I have endeavored to inculcate into you, and particularly last Sunday, and from these words : Those who do evil shall go into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels. I undertook to show you, first, what is meant by everlasting fire ; and, sec- ondly, who were the devil and his angels. I then proceeded to draw some inferences from the whole*; in which I am mightily deceived if I did not convince you that you yourself was one of those angels, and, conse- quently, must expect everlasting fire to be your por- tion in the other world. Jonathan. Faith, doctor, I remember very little of your inferences ; for I fell asleep soon after your naming the text. But did you preach this doctrine then, or do you repeat it now in order to comfort me ? Ordinary. I do it in order to bring you to a true sense of your manifold sins, and by that means, to induce you to repentance. Indeed, had I the eloquence of Cicero, or of TuUy, it would not be sufficient to describe the pains of hell or the joys of heaven. The utmost that we are taught is, that ear hath not heard, nor can heart con- ceive. Who then would, for the pitiful consideration of the riches and pleasures of this world, forfeit such inesti- * He prououuced this word HULL, and perhaps would have spelt it so, 192 JONATHAN WILD. mable happiness ! such joys ! such pleasures ! such delights ? Or who would run the venture of such misery, which, but to think on, shocks the human understanding ? Who, in his senses, then, would prefer the latter to the former ? Jonathan. Ay, who indeed ? I assure you, doctor, I had much rather be happy than miserable. But f * T T * * Ordinary. Nothing can be plainer. St. * * * * * * « * * Jonathan. * * * * If once con- vinced * * « * * no man * * lives of * * * * * * * * whereas sure the clergy * * opportunity * " better informed * * * * * all manner of vice * » » Ordiwari/. * are* atheist* * deist* ari * * cinian * hanged * " burnt * ^ oiled * oasted.* * * dev * * his an * * * ell fire * * ternal da * * tion. Jonathan. You * * ' to frighten me out of my wits. But the good * * * is, I doubt not, more merciful than his wick- ed * * If I should believe all you say, I am sure I should die in inexpressible horror. Ordinary. Despair is sinful. You should place your hopes in repentance and grace ; and though it is most true that you are in danger of the judgment, yet there is still room for mercy ; and no man, unless excommunicated, is absolutely without hopes of a reprieve. Jonathan. I am not without hopes of a reprieve from the cheat yet. I have pretty good interest ; but, if I can- not obtain it, you shall not frighten me out of my cour- age. I will not die like a pimp. D — n me, what is death ? It is nothing but to be with Platos and with Caesars, as the poet says, and all the other great heroes of antiquity. Ordinary. Ay, all this is very true ; but life is sweet + This part so blotted that it was illegible. JONATHAN WILD. 193 for all that ; and I had rather live to eternity than go into the company of any such heathens, who are, I doubt not, in hell with the devil and his angels, and, as little as you seem to apprehend it, you may find yourself there before you expect it. Where, then, will be your taunt- ings and your vauntings, your boastings and your brag- gings ? You will then be ready to give more for a drop of water than you ever gave for a bottle of wine. Jonathan. Faith, doctor ! well minded. What say you to a bottle of wine ? Ordinary. I will drink no wine with an atheist. I should expect the devil to make a third in such company ; for, since he knows you are his, he may be impatient to have his due. Jonathan. It is your business to drink with the wicked, in order to amend them. Ordinary. I despair of it ; and so I consign you over to the devil, who is ready to receive you. Jonathan. You are more unmerciful to me than the judge, doctor. He recommended my soul to heaven; and it is your office to show me the way thither. Ordinary. No; the gates are barred against all revilers of the clergy. Jonathan. I revile only the wicked ones, if any such are, which cannot affect you ; who, if men were preferred in the church by merit only, would have long since been a bishop. Indeed, it might raise any good man's indig- nation to observe one of your vast learning and abilities obliged to exert them in so low a sphere, when so many of your inferiors wallow in wealth and preferment. Ordinary. Why, it must be confessed that there are bad men in all orders ; but you should not censure too generally. I must own I might have expected higher promotion ; but I have learnt patience and resignation ; and I would advise you to the same temper of mind ; which, if you can attain, I know you wUl find mercy. Nay, I do now promise you you will. It is true you are a 194 JONATHAN WILD. sinner ; but your crimes are not of the blackest dye : you are no murderer, nor guilty of sacrilege. And, if you are guilty of theft, you make some atonement by suffering for it, which many others do not. Happy it is indeed for those few who are detected in their sins, and brought to exemplary punishment for them in this world. So far, therefore, from repining at your fate when you come to the tree, you should exult and rejoice in it ; and, to say the truth, I question whether, to a wise man, the catas- trophe of many of those who die by a halter is not more to be envied than pitied. Nothing is so sinful as sin, and murder is the greatest of all sins. It follows that whoever commits murder is happy in suffering for it. If, therefore, a man who commits murder is so happy in dying for it, how much better must it be for you, who have committed a less crime ! Jonathan. All this is very true; but let us take a bot- tle of wine to cheer our spirits. Ordinary. Why wine? Let me teU you, Mr. Wild, there is nothing so deceitful as the spirits given us by wine. If you must drink, let u^'have a bowl of punch — a liquor I the rather prefer, as it is nowhere spoken against in scripture, and as it is more wholesome for the gravel, a distemper with which I am grievously afflicted. Jonathan {having called for a howl). I ask your par- don, doctor ; I should have remembered that punch was your favorite liquor. I think you never taste wine while there is any punch remaining on the table. Ordinary. I confess I look on punch to be the more eligible liquor, as well for the reasons I have before men- tioned as likewise for one other cause, it is the properest for a DRAUGHT. I own I took it a little unkind of you to mention wine, thinking you knew my palate. Jonathan. You are in the right; and I will take a swingeing cup to your being made a bishop. Ordinary. And I will wish you a reprieve in as large a draught. Come, don't despair : it is yet time enough to JONATHAN WILD. 195 tMnk of dying ; you have good friends, who very probably may prevail for you. I have known many a man re- prieved who had less reason to expect it. Jonathan. But if I should flatter myself with such hopes, and be deceived — what then would become of my soul? Ordinary. Pugh ! Never mind your soul — leave that to me ; I will render a good account of it, I warrant you. I have a sermon in my pocket which may be of some use to you to hear. I do not value myself on the talent of preaching, since no man ought to value himself for any gift in this world. But perhaps there are many such sermons. But to proceed, since we have nothing else to do till the punch comes. My text is the latter part of a verse only : — To the OreeJcs foolishness. The occasion of these words was principally that philos- ophy of the Greeks which at that time had overrun great part of the heathen world, had poisoned, and, as it were, puffed up their minds with pride, so that they dis- regarded all kinds of doctrine in comparison of their own: and, however safe and however sound the learning of others might be, yet, if it anywise contradicted their own laws, customs, and received opinions, away with it — it is not for us. It was to the Greeks foolishness. In the former part, therefore, of my discourse on these words, I shall principaHy confine myself to the laying open and demonstrating the great emptiness and •vanity of this philosophy, with which these idle and absurd sophists were so proudly blown up and elevated. And here I shall do two things : First, I shall expose the matter; and, secondly, the manner of this absurd philosophy. And first, for the first of these, namely the matter, Now here we may retort the unmannerly word which our adversaries have audaciously thrown in our faces ; for what was all this mighty matter of philosophy, this heap 196 JONATHAN WILD. of knowledge, which was to bring such large harvests of honor to those who sowed it, and so greatly and nobly to enrich the ground on which it fell ; what was it but fool- ishness ? An inconsistent heap of nonsense, of absurdi- ties and contradictions, bringing no ornament to the mind in its theory, nor exhibiting any usefulness to the body in its practice. What were all the sermons and the sayings, the fables and the morals of all these wise men, but, to use the word mentioned in my text once more, FOOLISHNESS ? What was their great master Plato, or their other great light Aristotle? Both fools, mere quibblers and sophists, idly and vainly attached to cer- tain ridiculous notions of their own, founded neither on truth nor on reason. Their whole works are a strange medley of the greatest falsehoods, scarce covered over with the color of truth : their precepts are neither bor- rowed from nature nor guided by reason ; mere fictions, serving only to evince the dreadful height of human pride; in one word, foolishness. It may be perhaps ex- pected of me that I should give some instances from their works to prove this charge ; but, as to transcribe every passage to my purpose would be to transcribe their whole works, and as in such a plentiful crop it is dtfll- cult to choose ; instead of trespassing on your patience, I shall conclude this first head with asserting what I have so fully proved, and what may indeed be inferred from the text, that the philosophy of the Greeks was foolishness. Proceed we now, in the second place, to consider the manner in which this inane and simple doctrine was prop- agated. And here But here the punch by enter- ing waked Mr. Wild, who was fast asleep, and put an end to the sermon; nor could we obtain any farther account of the conversation which passed at this inter- view. JONATHAN WILD. 197 CHAPTER XIV. Wild proceeds to the highest consummation of human greatness. The day now drew nigh when our great man was to exemplify the last and noblest act of greatness by which any hero can signalize himself. This was the day of execution, or consummation, or apotheosis (for it is called by different names), which was to give our hero an oppor- tunity of facing death and damnation, without any fear in his heart, or, at least, without betraying any symptoms of it in his countenance. A completion of greatness which is heartily to be wished to every great man ; noth- ing being more worthy of lamentation than when For- tune, like a lazy poet, winds up her catastrophe awk- wardly, and bestowing too little care on her fifth act, dis- misses the hero with a sneaking and private exit, who had in the former part of the drama performed such notable exploits as must promise to every good judge among the spectators a noble, public, and exalted end. But she was resolved to commit no such error in this instance. Our hero was too much and too deservedly her favorite to be neglected by her in his last moments ; ac- cordingly all efforts for a reprieve were vain, and the name of Wild stood at the head of those who were ordered for execution. From the time he gave over all hopes of life, his con- duct was truly great and admirable. Instead of showing any marks of dejection or contrition, he rather infused more confidence and assurance into his looks. He spent most of his hours in drinking with his friends and with the good man above commemorated. In one of these compotations, being asked whether he was afraid to die, he answered, "D — n me, it is only a dance without music." Another time, when one expressed some sorrow for his misfortune, as he termed it, he said with great fierceness, — " A man can die but once." Again, when 198 JONATHAN WILD. one of his intimate acquaintance hinted his hopes that he would die Uke a man, he cocked his hat in defiance, and cries out greatly — " Zounds ! who's afraid ?" Happy would it have been for posterity, could we have retrieved any entire conversation which passed at this season, especially between our hero and his learned com- forter ; but we have searched many pasteboard records in vain. On the eve of his apotheosis. Wild's lady desired to see him, to which he consented. This meeting was at first very tender on both sides ; but it could not continue so, for unluckily, some hints of former miscarriages inter- vening, as particularly when she asked him how he could have used her so barbarously once as calling her b , and whether such language became a man, much less a gen- tleman, Wild flew into a violent passion, and swore she was the vilest of b s to upbraid him at such a season with an unguarded word spoken long ago. She replied, with many tears, she was well enough served for her folly in visiting such a brute; but she had one comfort, however, that it would be the last time he could ever treat her so ; that indeed she had some obligation to him, for that his cruelty to her would reconcile her to the fate he was to-morrow to suffer ; and, indeed, nothing but such brutality could have made the consideration of his shameful death (so this weak woman called hanging), which was now incAatable, to be borne even without madness. She then proceeded to a recapitulation of his faults in an exacter order, and with more perfect memory, than one would have imagined her capable of ; and it is probable would have rehearsed a complete catalogue had not our hero's patience failed him, so that with the utmost fury and violence he caught her by the hair and kicked her as heartily as his chains would suffer him out of the room. At length the morning came which Fortune at his birth had resolutely ordained for the consummation of our hero's gkeatnbss : he had himself indeed modestly de- JONATHAN WILD. 199 clined tlie public honors she intended Mm, and had taken a quantity of laudanum, in order to retire quietly off the stage; but we have already observed, in the course of our ■wonderful history, that to struggle against this lady's decrees is vain and impotent ; and whether she hath de- termined you shall be hanged or be a prime minister, it is in either case lost labor to resist. Laudanum, therefore, being unable to stop the breath of our hero, which the fruit of hemp seed, and not the spirit of poppy seed, was to overcome, he was at the usual hour attended by the proper gentleman appointed for that purpose, and ac- quainted that the cart was ready. On this occasion he exerted that greatest of courage which hath been so much celebrated in other heroes ; and, knowing that it was im- possible to resist, he gravely declared he would attend them. He then descended to that room where the fetters of great men are knocked off in a most solemn and cere- monious manner. Then shaking hands with his friends (to wit, those who were conducting him to the tree), and drinking their healths in a bumper of brandy, he ascended the cart, where he was no sooner seated than he received the acclamations of the multitude, who were highly ravished with his greatness. The cart now moved slowly on, being preceded by a troop of horse-guards bearing javelins in their hands, through streets lined with crowds all admiring the great behavior of our hero, who rode on, sometimes sighing, sometimes swearing, sometimes singing or whistling, as his humor varied. When he came to the tree of glory he was welcomed with an universal shout of the people, who were there assembled in prodigious numbers to behold a sight much more rare in populous cities than one would reasonably imagine it should be, viz. the proper catastrophe of a great man. But though envy was, through fear, obliged to join the general voice in applause on this occasion, there were no^ 200 JONATHAN WILD. wanting' some who maligned this completion of glory, which was now about to be fulfilled to our hero, and endeavored to prevent it by knocking him on the head as he stood under the tree, while the ordinary was perform- ing his last office. They therefore began to batter the cart with stones, brickbats, dirt, and all manner of mis- chievous weapons, some of which, erroneously playing on the robes of the ecclesiastic, made him so expeditious in his repetition, that with wonderful alacrity he had ended almost in an instant, and conveyed himself into a place of safety in a hackney-coach, where he waited the conclusion with a temper of mind described in these verses : Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis, E terra alterius magnum spectare laborem. We must not, however, omit one circumstance, as it serves to show the most admirable conservation of character in our hero tp the last moment, which was, that, whilst the ordinary was busy in his ejaculations. Wild, in the midst of the shower of stones, &c., which played upon him, applied his hands to the parson's pocket, and emptied it of his bottle-screw, which he carried out of the world in his hand. The ordinary being now descended from the cart. Wild had just opportunity to cast his eyes around the crowd, and give them a hearty curse, when immediately the horses moved on, and with universal applause our hero swung out of this world. Thus fell Jonathan Wild the great, by a death as glorious as his life had been, and which was so truly agreeable to it, that the latter must have been deplorably maimed and imperfect without the former ; a death which hath been alone wanting to complete the characters of several ancient and modern heroes, whose histories would then have been read with much greater pleasure by the wisest in all ages. Indeed we could almost wish that whenever Fortune seems wantonly to deviate from her JONATHAN WILD. 201 purpose, and leaves her work imperfect in this particular, the historian would indulge himself in the license of poetry and romance, and even do a violence to truth, to oblige his reader with a page which must be the most delightful in all the history, and which could never fail of producing an instructive moral. Narrow minds may possibly have some reason to be ashamed of going this way out of the world, if their con- sciences can fly in their faces and assure them they have not merited such an honor ; but he must be a fool who is ashamed of being hanged, who is not weak enough to be ashamed of having deserved it. CHAPTER XV. The character of our hero, and the conclusion of this history. We wiU now endeavor to draw the character of this great man ; and, by bringing together those several features as it were of his mind which lie scattered up and down in this history, to present our readers with a perfect picture of greatness. Jonathan Wild had every qualification necessary to form a great man. As his most powerful and predomi- nant passion was ambition, so nature had, with consum- mate propriety, adapted all his faculties to the attaining those glorious ends to which this passion directed him. He was extremely ingenious in inventing designs, artful in contriving the means to accomplish his purposes, and resolute in executing them; for as the most exquisite cunning and most undaunted boldness qualified him for any undertaking, so was he not restrained by any of those weaknesses which disappoint the views of mean and vul- gar souls, and which are comprehended in one general term of honesty, which is a corruption of honosty, a word derived from what the Grreekg call an ass. He was 203 JONATHAN WILD. entirely free from those low vices of modesty and good- nature, which, as he said, implied a total negation of human greatness, and were the only qualities which abso- lutely rendered a man incapable of making a considerable figure in the world. His lust was inferior only to his ambition ; but, as for what simple people call love, he knew not what it was. His avarice was immense, but it was of the rapacious, not of the tenacious kind ; his rapacious- ness was indeed so violent, that nothing ever contented him but the whole ; for, however considerable the share was which his coadjutors allowed him of a booty, he was restless in inventing means to make himself master of the smallest pittance reserved by them. He said laws were made for the use of prigs only, and to secure their prop- erty ; they were never therefore more perverted than when their edge was turned against these ; but that this generally happened through their want of sufficient dex- terity. The character which he most valued himself upon, and which he principally honored in others, was that of hypocrisy. His opinion was, that no one could carry priggism very far without it ; for which reason, he said, there was little greatness to be expected in a man who acknowledged his vices, but always much to be hoped from him who professed great virtues : wherefore, though he would always shun the person whom he dis- covered guilty of a good action, yet he was never deterred by a good character, which was more com- monly the effect of profession than of action ; for which reason he himself was always very liberal of honest pro- fessions, and had as much virtue and goodness in his mouth as a saint ; never in the least scrupling to swear by his honor, even to those who knew him the best ; nay, though he held good-nature and inodesty in the highest contempt, he constantly practised the affectation of both, and recommended this to others, whose welfare, on his own account, he wished well to. He laid down several maxims as the certain methods of attaining greatness, to JONATHAN WILD. 303 which, in his own pursuit of it, he constantly adhered. As, 1. Never to do more mischief to another than was neces- sary to the effecting' his purpose ; for that mischief was too precious a thing- to be thrown away. 2. To know no distinction of men from affection ; hut to sacrifice all with equal readiness to his interest. 3. Never to communicate more of an affair than was necessary to the person who was to execute it. 4. Not to trust him -who hath deceived you, nor who knows he hath been deceived by you. 5. To forgive no enemy ; but to be cautious and often dilatory in revenge. 6. To shun poverty and distress, but to ally himself as close as possible to power and riches. 7. To maintain a constant gravity in his countenance and behavior, and to affect wisdom on all occasions. 8. To foment eternal jealousies in his gang, one of another. 9. Never to reward any one equal to his merit; but always to insinuate that the reward was above it. 10. That all men were knaves or fools, and much the greater number a composition of both. 11. That a good name, like money, must be parted with, or at least greatly risked, in order to bring the owner any advantage. 13. That virtues, like precious stones, were easily coun- terfeited ; that the counterfeits in both cases adorned the wearer equally, and that very few had knowledge or discernment sufficient to distinguish the counter- feit jewel from the real. 13. That many men were undone by not going deep enough in roguery ; as in gaming any man may be a loser who doth not play the whole game. 14. That men proclaim their own virtues, as shopkeepers expose their goods, in order to profit by them. 15. That the heart was the proper seat of hatred, and the countenance of affection and friendship. W— 14 204 JONATHAN WILD. He had many more of the same kind, all equally good with these, and which were after his decease found in his study, as the twelve excellent and celebrated rules were in that of King Charles the First ; for he never promul- gated them in his lifetime, not having them constantly in his mouth, as some grave persons have the rules of vir- tue and morality, without paymg the least regard to them in their actions : whereas our hero, by a constant and steady adherence to his rules in conforming every- thing he did to them, acquired at length a settled habit of walking by them, till at last he was in no danger of inadvertently going out of the way ; and by these means he arrived at that degree of greatness which few have equaled ; none, we may say, have exceeded : for, though it must be allowed that there have been some few heroes who have done greater mischiefs to mankind, such as those who have betrayed the liberty of their country to others, or who have undermined and overpowered it themselves ; or conquerors who have impoverished, pil- laged, sacked, burnt, and destroyed the countries and cities of their fellow-creatures, from no other provocation than that of glory, i. e. as the tragic poet calls it, a privilege to kill, A strong temptation to do bravely ill ; yet, if we consider it in the light wherein actions are placed in this line, Lsetius est, quoties magno tibi constat honestum ; when we see our hero, without the least assistance or pre- tence, setting himself at the head of a gang which he had not any shadow of right to govern ; if we view him main- taining absolute power and exercising tyranny over a lawless crew, contrary to all law but that of his own will ; if we consider him setting up an open trade publicly, in defiance not only of the laws of his country but of the common sense of his countrymen ; if we see him first contriving the robbery of others, and again the defraud- JONATHAN WILD. 205 ing the very robbers of that booty which they had ven- tured their necks to acquire, and which, without any hazard, they might have retained, here sure he must appear admirable, and we may challenge not only the truth of history, but almost the latitude of fiction, to equal his glory. Nor had he any of those flaws in his character which, though they have been commended by weak writers, have (as I hinted in the beginning of this historj') by the judicious reader been censured and despised. Such was the clemency of Alexander and Csesar, which nature had so grossly erred in giving them, as a painter would who should dress a peasant in the robes of state, or give the nose or any other feature of a Venus to a satyr. What had the destroyers of mankind, that glorious pair, one of whom came into the world to usurp the dominion and abolish the constitution of his own country ; the other to conquer, enslave, and rule over the whole world, at least, so much as was well known to him, and the shortness Qf his life would give him leave to visit ; what had, I say, such as these to do with clemency ? Who cannot see the absurdity and contradiction of mixing such an ingredient with those noble and great qualities I have before men- tioned ? Now, in Wild everything was truly great, almost without alloy, as his imperfections (for surely some small ones he had) were only such as served to de- nominate him a human creature, of which kind none ever arrived at consummate excellence. But surely his whole behavior to his friend Heartfree is a convincing proof that the true iron or steel greatness of his heart was not debased by any softer metal. Indeed, while greatness consists in power, pride, insolence, and doing mischief to mankind — to speak out — while a great man and a great rogue are synonymous terms, so long shall Wild stand unrivaled on the pinnacle of greatness. Nor must we omit here, as the finishing of his character, what indeed ought to be remembered on his tomb or his statue, the 206 JONATHAN WILD. conformity above mentioned of his death to his life ; and that Jonathan Wild the Great, after all his mighty ex- ploits, was, what so few great men can accomplish— hanged by the neck till he was dead. Having thus brought our hero to his conclusion, it may be satisfactory to some readers (for many, I doubt not, carry their concern no farther than his fate) to know what became of Heartfree. We shall acquaint them, therefore, that his sufferings were now at an end ; that the good magistrate easily prevailed for his pardon, nor was contented till he had made him all the reparation he could for his troubles, though the share he had in bring- ing these upon him was not only innocent but from its motive laudable. He procured the restoration of the jew- els from the man-of-war at her return to England, and, above all, omitted no labor to restore Heartfree to his reputation, and to persuade his neighbors, acquaintances, and customers of his innocence. When the commission of bankruptcy was satisfied, Heartfree had a considerable sum remaining ; for the diamond presented to his wife was of prodigious value, and infinitely recompensed the loss of those jewels which Miss Straddle hiad disposed of. He now set up again in his trade ; compassion for his un- merited misfortunes brought him many customers among those who had any regard to humanity ; and he hath, by industry joined with parsimony, amassed a considerable fortune. His wife and he are now grown old in the pur- est love and friendship, but never had another child. Friendly married his eldest daughter at the age of nine- teen, and became his partner in trade. As to the younger, she never would listen to the addresses of any lover, not even of a young nobleman, who offered to take her with two thousand pounds, which her father would have will- ingly produced, and indeed did his utmost to persuade her to the match ; but she refused absolutely, nor would give any other reason when Heartfree pressed her, than that she had dedicated her days to his service, and was JONATHAN WILD. 207 resolved no other duty should interfere with that which she owed to the best of fathers, nor prevent her from being the nurse of his old age. Thus Heartfree, his wife, his two daughters, his son-in- law, and his grandchildren, of which he hath several, live all together in one house ; and that, with such amity and affection towards each other, that they are in the neigh- borhood called the family of love. As to all che other persons mentioned in this history in the light of greatness, they had all the fate adapted to it, being every one hanged by the neck, save two, viz. Miss Theodosia Snap, who was transported to America, where she was pretty well married, reformed, and made a good wife ; and the count, who recovered of the wound he had received of the hermit and made his escape into France, where he committed a robbery, was taken, and broke on the wheel. Indeed, whoever considers the common fate of great men must allow they well deserve and hardly earn that applause which is given them by the world ; for, when we reflect on the labors and pains, the cares, disquietudes, and dangers which attend their road to greatness, we may say with the divine that a man may go to Heaven with half the pains which it costs him to purchase hell. To say the truth, the world has this reason at least to honor such characters as that of Wild : that, while it is in the power of every man to be perfectly honest, not one in a thousand is capable of being a complete rogue ; and few indeed there are who, if they were inspired with the vanity of imitating our hero, would not after much fmitless pains be obliged to own themselves inferior to Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great.