• Mndam, no less than the honour of being permitted to · pay another vifit here.'

Sir,' replied the lady, • I make no doubt that you ⚫ are a gentleman, and my doors are never fhut to people of fafhion.'

Jones then, after proper ceremonials, departed highly to his own fatisfaction, and no lefs to that of Sophia; who was terribly alarmed leaft Lady Bellafton fhould discover what the knew already but too well.

Upon the ftairs Jones met his old acquaintance Mrs Honour, who, notwithstanding all the had faid against him, was now fo well-bred as to behave with great civility.

This meeting proved indeed a lucky circumstance, as he communicated to her the house where he lodged, with which Sophia was unacquainted.

THE

CHA P. XII.

In which the thirteenth Book is concluded.

HE elegant Lord Shaftesbury fomewhere objects to telling too much truth: by which it may be fairly inferred, that, in fome cafes, to lie is not only excufable: but commendable.

And furely there are no perfons who may fo properly challenge a right to this commendable deviation from truth, as young women in the affair of love; for which they may plead precept, education, and, above all, the fanction, nay, I may fay, the neceffity of custom, by which they are reftrained, not from fubmitting to the honeft impulfes of nature (for that would be a foolish prohibition) but from owning them.

We are not, therefore, afhanied to fay, that our he roine now purfued the dictates of the above mentioned right honourable philofopher. As fhe was perfectly fa tisfied then, that Lady Beilafton was ignorant of the per fon of Jones, fo the determined to keep her in that ignorance, though at the expence of a little fibbing.

6

Jones had not been long gone, before Lady Bellafion cried, Upon my word, a good pretty young fellow; I • wonder who he is; for I don't remember ever to have feen his face before.?

Nor I neither, Madam,' cries Sophia; I muft fay

• he behaved very handsomely in relation to my note." Yes; and he is a very handfome fellow,' faid the la• don't you think fo?'

dy: I did not take much notice of him,' answered Sophia; but I thought he feemed rather aukward and un• genteel than otherwise,'

You are extremely right,' cries Lady Bellaston : you may fee, by his manner, that he hath not kept good company. Nay, notwithstanding his returning ⚫ your note, and refufing the reward, I almoft question whether he is a gentleman. I have always obferved there is a fomething in perfons well born, which others ⚫ can never acquire I think I will give orders not to

⚫ be at home to him.

Nay, Sure, Madam,' answered Sophia, one can't fufpect after what he hath done :— -befides, if your Ladyship observed him, there was an elegance in his • discourse, a delicacy, a prettiness of expreflion that, that

• I confefs,' faid Lady Bellafton, the fellow hath ♦ words—And, indeed Sophia, you must forgive me, ⚫ indeed you must.'

I forgive your Ladyship !' faid Sophia.

Yes, indeed, you muft,' antwered the laughing; • for I had a horrible fufpicion when I firtt came into the room I vow you must forgive it; but I suspected it was Mr Jones himself.'

"Did your Ladyship, indeed?” cries Sophia, blushing, and affecting a laugh.

Yes, I vow I did,' answered she, I can't imagine what put it into my head: for give the fellow his due, ⚫he was genteelly drefs'd; which I think, dear Sophy, is not commonly the cafe with your friend.'

This raillery,' cries Sophia, is a little cruel, Lady Bellafton, after my promife to your Ladyfhip.' Not at all, child,' faid the lady. It would have been cruel before; but after you have promifed me never to marry without your father's confent, in which you know is implied your giving up Jonės, fure you can bear a little raillery on a paffion which was pardonable enough in a young girl in the country, and of which you tell me you have fo entirely got the better. What multi

think, my dear Sophy, if you cannot bear a little ri⚫dicule even on his drefs? I fhall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almost question whether you have dealt ingenioufly with me.'

Indeed, Madam,' cries Sophia, your Ladyship miftakes me, if you imagine I had any concern on his ac

• count.'

On his account!' anfwered the lady; you must have • mistaken me; I went no farther than his drefs; for I would not injure your taste by any other comparifon- I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if your Mr Jones had been fuch a fellow as this

I thought, fays Sophia, your Ladyship had allowed him to be handfome.'

Whom, pray?' cried the lady, haftily.

Mr Jones,' anfwered Sophia ;--and immediately recollecting herself, Mr Jones!-no, no; I ask your par • don;-I mean the gentleman who was juft now here.' O Sophy! Sophy!' cries the lady; this Mr Jones, I am afraid, ftill runs in your head.'

Then, upon my honour, Madam,' said Sophia, Mr Jones is as entirely indifferent to me, as the gentleman who just now left us.'

Upon my honour,' faid Lady Bellafton, I believe it. Forgive me, therefore, a little innocent raillery ; but I promife you I will never mention his name any

more.'

And now the two ladies feparated, infinitely more to the delight of Sophia than of Lady Bellafton, who would willingly have tormented her rival a little longer, had not bufinefs of more importance called her away. As for Sophia, her mind was not perfectly eafy under this first practice of deceit : upon which, when the reti red to her chamber, the reflected with the highest unea. finefs, and confcious fhame. Nor could the peculiar hardship of her fituation, and the neceflity of the cafe, at all reconcile her mind to her conduct; for the frame of her mind was too delicate to bear the thought of having been guilty of a falfehood, however qualified by circumstances. Nor did this thought once fuffer her to close her eyes during the whole fucceeding night..

.

THE

HISTORY

OF A

FOUNDLING.

BOOK XIV.

Containing two days.

С НА Р. I.

An effay to prove that an author will write the better, for having fome knowledge of the fubject on which he writes.

S feveral gentlemen in thefe times, by the wonder

ance of learning, perhaps without being well able to read, have made a confiderable figure in the republic of letters: the modern critics, I am told, have lately begun to affert, that all kind of learning is entirely uielefs to a writer; and indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural sprightliness and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighed down, and prevented from foaring to thofe high flights which otherwite it would be able to reach.

This doctrine I am afraid, is, at prefent, carried much too far: for why fhould writing fer fò much from all other arts? The nimbleness of a dancing-maller is not at all prejudifed by being taught to move; nor doth any mechanic, I believe, exercife his tools the worfe by having learnt to use them. For my own part, I cannot conceive that Homer or Virgil would have writ with more fire, if, instead of being mafters of all the learning of their times, they had been as ignorant as most of the authors of the prefent age. Nor do I believe

that all the imagination, fire, and judgment of Pitt, could have produced those orations that have made the fenate of England in these our times a rival in eloquence of Greece and Rome, if he had not been fo well read in the writings of Demofthenes and Cicero, as to have transfused their whole fpirit into his fpeeches, and with their fpirit, their knowledge too.

I would not here be understood to infit on the fame fund of learning in any of my brethren, as Cicero perfuades us is neceffary to the compofition of an orator. On the contrary, very little reading is, I conceive, neceffary to the poet, lefs to the critic, and the least of all to the politician. For the first, perhaps, Byfhe's Art of Poetry, and a few of our modern poets, may fuffice; for the fecond, a moderate heap of plays; and for the last, an indifferent collection of political journals.

To say the truth, I require no more than that a man fhould have fome little knowledge of the fubject on which he treats, according to the old maxim of law, Quam quifque artem norit in ea fe exerceat. With this alone a writer may fometimes do tolerably well; and indeed, without this, all the other learning in the world will stand him in little ftead.

For instance, let us fuppofe that Homer and Virgil, Ariftotle and Cicero, Thucydides and Livy, could have met altogether, and have clubbed their feveral talents to have composed a treatise on the art of dancing; I believe it will be readily agreed they could not have equalled the excellent treatife which Mr Effex hath given us on that subject, intitled, The rudiments of genteel education. And, indeed, fhould the excellent Mr Broughton be prevailed on to fet fit to paper, and to complete the abovefaid rudiments, by delivering down the true principles of athletics, I question whether the world would have any cause to lament, that none of the great writers, either ancient or modern, have ever treated about that noble and ufeful art.

To avoid a multiplicity of examples in fo plain a cafe, and to come at once to my point, I am apt to conceive, that one reafon why many English writers have totally failed in defcribing the manners of upper life, may pof