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Madam, 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 fashion.'

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

Upon the ftairs Jones met his old acquaintance Mrs Honour, who notwithstanding all fhe had faid against him, was now fo well-bred as to behave with great civility. This meeting proved indeed a lucky circumftance, as he communicated to her the house where he lodged, with which Sophia was unacquainted.

TH

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, afhamed to fay, that our heroine now purfued the dictates of the above-mentioned right honourable philofopher. As fhe was perfectly fatisfied then, that Lady Bellafton was ignorant of the perfon of Jones, fo fhe determined to keep her in that ignorance, though at the expence of a little fibbing.

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Jones had not been long gone, before Lady Bellafton 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 1 neither, Madam,' cries Sophia; I must fay

he behaved very handfomely 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,' anfwered So-> phia; but I thought he seemed rather aukward and ungenteel than otherwife.'

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

not to be at home to him.

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Nay, Sure, Madam,' anfwered Sophia, one can't fufpect after what he hath done befides, if your Ladyfhip obferved him, there was an elegance in hisdifcourfe, a delicacy, a prettinefs of expreffion that,

that

I confefs,' faid Lady Bellafton, the fellow hath. wordsAnd indeed Sophia, you muft forgive me, indeed you muft.'

• I forgive your Ladyfhip!' faid Sophia.

Yes, indeed, you muft,' anfwered the laughing; for I had a horrible fufpicion when I first came into the -I vow you must forgive it; but I suspected it was Mr Jones himself '

room

Did your Ladyfhip, indeed ? cries Sophia, blushing, and affecting a laugh.

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Yes, I vow I did,' anfwered fhe, 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, La-dy Bellafton, after my promise to your Ladyship.'

--

Not at all, child,' laid 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 Jones, fure you can bear a littleraillery 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 must L

think, my dear Sophy, if you cannot bear a little ridicule even on his drefs? I fhall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almoft queftion whether you have dealt ingenuously with me.'

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

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'On his account!' answered 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

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1 thought, fays Sophia, your Ladyfhip had allowed him to be handfome.'

Whom, pray? cried the lady, haftily.

Mr Jones, anfwered Sophia;—and immediately recollecting herfelf, Mr Jones!-no, no; I ask your pardon ;-I mean the gentleman who was juft now here.”

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O Sophy! Sophy!' cries the lady; this Mr Jones,

‹ I am afraid, ftill runs in your head.'

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

Upon my honour,' faid Lady Bellafton, I believe it. Forgive me, therefore, a little innocent ralllery; but I promise 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 firft practice of deceit : upon which, when she retired to her chamber, fhe reflected with the higheft unea finefs, and confcious fhame. Nor could the peculiar hardfhip of her fituation, and the neceffity 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 circumitances. Nor did this thought once fuffer her to clofe her eyes during the whole fucceeding night.

THE

HISTORY

OF A

FOUNDLING.

BOOK XIV.

Containing two days.

CHA P. I.

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

A

S feveral gentlemen in these times, by the wonderful force of genius only, without the leaft affiftance 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 useless to a writer; and indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural fprightlinefs and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighed down, and prevented from foaring to those high flights which otherwife it would be able to reach.

This doctrine I am afraid, is, at prefent, carried much too far: for why fhould writing differ fo much from all other arts? The nimbleness of a dancing-mafter is not at all prejudiced 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, inftead 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 senate of England in thefe 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 transfufed their whole fpirit into his fpeeches, and with their spirit, their knowledge too.

I would not here be understood to infist 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 poct, lefs to the critic, and the leaft of all to the politician. For the firft, 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 fay 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 fometimes do tolerably well; and indeed, without this, all the other learning in the world will stand him in little ftead.

a

writer

may

For instance, let us fuppofe that Homer and Virgil, Ariftotle and Cicero, Thucydides, and Livy, could have met altogether, and have clubbed their several talents to have compofed a treatife on the art of dancing; I believe it will be readily agreed they could not have equalled the excellent treatise which Mr Effex hath given us on that fubject, intitled, The rudiments of genteel education. And, indeed, fhould the excellent Mr Broughton be prevailed on to fet fift to paper, and to complete the abovefaid rudiments, by delivering down the true principles of athletics, I queflion 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

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