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gistrate, of that reugh the year, de his pomp. I myself, who captivated with e to the impressions When I have seen a ssion, after others whose walk before him, I have con of his dignity, than I bau in a common situation. stance which comes exactly this is the custom of sending , who is to precede the pomp , and to strew the stage with Noke great personages begin their proThe ancients would certainly have ingoddess Flora for this purpose, and it beve been no difficulty for their priests Concians to have persuaded the people of the sence of the deity, though a plain morad personated her, and performed her office. but we have no such design of imposing on our reader; and therefore those who object to the heathen theology, may, if they please, change our goddess into the above-mentioned basketwoman. Our intention, in short, is to introduce our heroine with the utmost solemnity in our power, with an elevation of style, and all other circumstances proper to raise the veneration of our reader. Indeed we would, for certain causes, advise those of our male readers who have any hearts, to read no farther, were we not well assured, that how amiable soever the picture of our heroine will appear, as it is really a copy from nature, many of our fair country women will be found worthy to satisfy any passion, and to answer any idea of female perfection, which our pencil will be able to raise.

And now, without any further preface, we proceed to our next chapter.

CHAP. II.

A short hint of what we can do in the sublime, and a description of Miss Sophia Western.

HUSHED be every ruder breath. May the heathen ruler of the winds confine in iron chains the boisterous limbs of noisy Boreas, and the sharp-pointed nose of bitter, biting Eurus. Do thou, sweet Zephyrus, rising from thy fragrant bed, mount the western sky, and lead on those delicious gales, the charms of which call forth the lovely Flora from her chamber, perfumed with pearly dews, when on the first of June, her birth-day, the blooming maid, in loose attire, gently trips it over the verdant mead, where every flower rises to do her homage, until the

whole field becomes enamelled, and colours contend with sweets which shall ravish her most.

So charming may she now appear; and you the feathered choristers of nature, whose sweetest notes not even Handel can excel, tune your melodious throats, to celebrate her appearance. From love proceeds your music, and to love it returns. Awaken therefore that gentle passion in every swain: for, lo! adorned with all the charms in which nature can array her; bedecked with beauty, youth, sprightliness, innocence, modesty and tenderness, breathing sweetness from her rosy lips, and darting brightness from her sparkling eyes, the lovely Sophia comes.

Reader, perhaps thou hast seen the statue of the Venus de Medicis. Perhaps too, thou hast seen the gallery of beauties at Hampton-court. Thou mayest remember each bright Churchill of the galaxy, and all the toasts of the Kit-cat. Or if their reign was before thy times, at least thou hast seen their daughters, the no less dazzling beauties of the present age; whose names, should we here insert, we apprehend they would fill the whole volume.

Now if thou hast seen all these, be not afraid of the rude answer which Lord Rochester once gave to a man who had seen many things. No. If thou hast seen all these without knowing what beauty is, thou hast no eyes; if without feeling its power, thou hast no heart.

Yet it is possible, my friend, that thou mayest have seen all these, without being able to form an exact idea of Sophia: for she did not exactly resemble any of them. She was most like the picture of Lady Ranelagh; and, I have heard, more still to the famous Duchess of Mazarine; but most of all, she resembled one whose image can never depart from my breast, and whom if thou dost remember, thou hast then, my friend, an adequate idea of Sophia.

But lest this should not have been thy fortune, we will endeavour with our utmost skill to describe this paragon, though we are sensible that our highest abilities are very inadequate to the task.

Sophia then, the only daughter of Mr Western, was a middle-sized woman; but rather inclining to tall. Her shape was not only exact, but extremely delicate: and the nice proportion of her arms promised the truest symmetry in her limbs. Her hair, which was black, was so luxuriant, that it reached her middle, before she cut it to comply with the modern fashion; and it was now curled so gracefully in her neck, that few could believe it to be her own. If envy could find any part of the face which demanded less commendation than the rest, it might possibly think her forehead might have been higher without any prejudice to her. Her eye-brows were full, even, and arched, beyond the power of art to imitate. Her black eyes had a lustre in them, which all her softness could not extinguish. Her nose was exactly regular, and her

mouth, in which were two rows of ivory, exactly answered Sir John Suckling's description in those lines.

Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly.

Her cheeks were of the oval kind; and in her right she had a dimple, which the least smile discovered. Her chin had certainly its share in forming the beauty of her face; but it was difficult to say it was either large or small, though perhaps it was rather of the former kind. Her complexion had rather more of the lily than the rose; but when exercise, or modesty, increased her natural colour, no vermilion could equal it. Then one might indeed cry out with the celebrated Dr Donne,

Her pure and eloquent blood

Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,
That one might almost say her body thought.

Her neck was long, and finely turned: and here, if I was not afraid of offending her delicacy, I might justly say, the highest beauties of the famous Venus de Medicis were outdone. Here was whiteness which no lilies, ivory, nor alabaster, could match. The finest cambric might indeed be supposed from envy to cover that bosom which was much whiter than itself. It was indeed,

"

Nitor splendens Pario marmore purius.

A gloss shining beyond the purest brightness of Parian marble."

Such was the outside of Sophia; nor was this beautiful frame disgraced by an inhabitant unworthy of it. Her mind was every way equal to her person; nay, the latter borrowed some charms from the former; for when she smiled, the sweetness of her temper diffused that glory over her countenance, which no regularity of features can give. But as there are no perfections of the mind which do not discover themselves, in that perfect intimacy to which we intend to introduce our reader with this charming young creature, so it is needless to mention them here; nay, it is a kind of tacit affront to our reader's understanding, and may also rob him of that pleasure which he will receive in forming his own judgment of her character.

It may, however, be proper to say, that whatever mental accomplishments she had derived from nature, they were somewhat improved and cultivated by art for she had been educated under the care of an aunt, who was a lady of great discretion, and was thoroughly acquainted with the world, having lived in her youth about the court, whence she had retired some years since into the country. By her conversation and instructions, Sophia was perfectly well bred,

though perhaps she wanted a little of that ease in her behaviour, which is to be acquired only by habit, and living within what is called the polite circle. But this, to say the truth, is often too dearly purchased; and though it hath charms so inexpressible, that the French, perhaps, among other qualities, mean to express this, when they declare they know not what it is; yet its absence is well compensated by innocence; nor can good sense, and a natural gentility, ever stand in need of it.

CHAP. III.

Wherein the history goes back to commemorate a trifling incident that happened some years since; but which, trifling as it was, had some future consequences.

THE amiable Sophia was now in her eighteenth year, when she is introduced into this history. Her father, as hath been said, was fonder of her than of any other human creature. To her, therefore, Tom Jones applied, in order to engage her interest on the behalf of his friend the game-keeper.

But before we proceed to this business, a short recapitulation of some previous matters may be necessary.

Though the different tempers of Mr Allworthy and of Mr Western did not admit of a very intimate correspondence, yet they lived upon what is called a decent footing together; by which means the young people of both families had been acquainted from their infancy; and as they were all near of the same age, had been frequent play-mates together.

The gaiety of Tom's temper suited better with Sophia than the grave and sober disposition of Master Blifil. And the preference which she gave the former of these would often appear so plainly, that a lad of a more passionate turn than Master Blifil was, might have shewn some displeasure at it.

As he did not, however, outwardly express any such disgust, it would be an ill office in us to pay a visit to the inmost recesses of his mind, as some scandalous people search into the most secret affairs of their friends, and often pry into their closets and cupboards, only to discover their poverty and meanness to the world.

However, as persons who suspect they have given others cause of offence, are apt to conclude they are offended; so Sophia imputed an action of Master Blifil to his anger, which the superior sagacity of Thwackum and Square discerned to have arisen from a much better principle.

Tom Jones, when very young, had presented Sophia with a little bird, which he had taken from the nest, had nursed up, and taught to sing.

Of this bird, Sophia, then about thirteen years

old, was so extremely fond, that her chief business was to feed and tend it, and her chief pleasure to play with it. By these means little Tommy, for so the bird was called, was become so tame, that it would feed out of the hand of its mistress, would perch upon her finger, and lie contented in her bosom, where it seemed almost sensible of its own happiness; though she always kept a small string about its leg, nor would ever trust it with the liberty of flying

away.

One day, when Mr Allworthy and his whole family dined at Mr Western's, Master Blifil, being in the garden with little Sophia, and observing the extreme fondness that she shewed for her little bird, desired her to trust it for a moment in his hands. Sophia presently complied with the young gentleman's request, and after some previous caution, delivered him her bird; of which he was no sooner in possession, than he slipt the string from its leg, and tossed it into the air.

The foolish animal no sooner perceived itself at liberty, than, forgetting all the favours it had received from Sophia, it flew directly from her, and perched on a bough at some distance.

Sophia, seeing her bird gone, screamed out so loud, that Tom Jones, who was at a little distance, immediately ran to her assistance.

He was no sooner informed of what had happened, than he cursed Blifil for a pitiful, malicious rascal; and then immediately stripping off his coat, he applied himself to climbing the tree to which the bird escaped.

Tom had almost recovered his little namesake, when the branch on which it was perched, and that hung over a canal, broke, and the poor lad plumped over head and ears into the water. Sophia's concern now changed its object. And as she apprehended the boy's life was in danger, she screamed ten times louder than before; and indeed Master Blifil himself now seconded her with all the vociferation in his power.

The company, who were sitting in a room next the garden, were instantly alarmed, and came all forth; but just as they reached the canal, Tom (for the water was luckily pretty shallow in that part) arrived safely on shore.

Thwackum fell violently on poor Tom, who stood dropping and shivering before him, when Mr Allworthy desired him to have patience, and turning to Master Blifil, said, "Pray, child, what is the reason of all this disturbance ?"

Master Blifil answered, "Indeed, uncle, I am very sorry for what I have done; I have been unhappily the occasion of it all. I had Miss Sophia's bird in my hand, and thinking the poor creature languished for liberty, I own I could not forbear giving it what it desired; for I always thought there was something very cruel in confining any thing. It seemed to be against the law of nature, by which every thing hath a right to liberty; nay, it is even unchristian;

for it is not doing what we would be done by. But if I had imagined Miss Sophia would have been so much concerned at it, I am sure I would never have done it; nay, if I had known what would have happened to the bird itself; for when Master Jones, who climbed up that tree after it, fell into the water, the bird took a second flight, and presently a nasty hawk carried it

away.

Poor Sophia, who now first heard of her little Tommy's fate, (for her concern for Jones had prevented her perceiving it when it happened,) shed a shower of tears. These Mr Allworthy endeavoured to assuage, promising her a much finer bird; but she declared she would never have another. Her father chid her for crying so for a foolish bird; but could not help telling young Blifil, if he was a son of his, his backside should be well flea'd.

Sophia now returned to her chamber, the two young gentlemen were sent home, and the rest of the company returned to their bottle, where a conversation ensued on the subject of the bird, so curious, that we think it deserves a chapter by itself.

CHAP. IV.

Containing such very deep and grave matters, that some readers, perhaps, may not relish it.

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SQUARE had no sooner lighted his pipe, than addressing himself to Allworthy, he thus began: Sir, I cannot help congratulating you on your nephew, who, at an age when few lads have any ideas but of sensible objects, is arrived at a capacity of distinguishing right from wrong.

To confine any thing seems to me against the law of nature, by which every thing hath a right to liberty. These were his words; and the impression they have made on me is never to be eradicated. Can any man have a higher notion of the rule of right, and the eternal fitness of things? I cannot help promising myself from such a dawn, that the meridian of this youth will be equal to that of either the elder or the younger Brutus."

Here Thwackum hastily interrupted, and spilling some of his wine, and swallowing the rest with great eagerness, answered, "From another expression he made use of, I hope he will resemble much better men. The law of nature is a jargon of words, which means nothing. I know not of any such law, nor of any right which can be derived from it. To do as we would be done by, is indeed a Christian motive, as the boy well expressed himself; and I am glad to find my instructions have borne such good fruit."

"If vanity was a thing fit," says Square, "I might indulge some on the same occasion; for, whence only he can have learnt his notions

of right or wrong, I think is pretty apparent. If there be no law of nature, there is no right nor wrong."

"How!" says the parson, "do you then banish revelation? Am I talking with a deist or an atheist ?"

"Drink about," says Western, 66 pox of your laws of nature. I don't know what you mean either of you by right and wrong. To take away my girl's bird was wrong, in my opinion; and my neighbour Allworthy may do as he pleases; but to encourage boys in such practices, is to breed them up to the gallows."

Allworthy answered, that he was sorry for what his nephew had done; but could not consent to punish him, as he acted rather from a generous than unworthy motive. He said, if the boy had stolen the bird, none would have been more ready to vote for a severe chastisement than himself; but it was plain that was not his design; and, indeed, it was as apparent to him, that he could have no other view but what he had himself avowed; (for as to that malicious purpose which Sophia suspected, it never once entered into the head of Mr Allworthy.) He at length concluded, with again blaming the action as inconsiderate, and which, he said, was pardonable only in a child.

Square had delivered his opinion so openly, that if he was now silent, he must submit to have his judgment censured. He said, therefore, with some warmth, that Mr Allworthy had too much respect to the dirty consideration of property; that in passing our judgments on great and mighty actions, all private regards should be laid aside; for, by adhering to those narrow rules, the younger Brutus had been condemned of ingratitude, and the elder of parricide.

"And if they had been hanged too for those crimes," cried Thwackum, " they would have had no more than their deserts. A couple of heathenish villains! Heaven be praised, we have no Brutuses now a-days. I wish, Mr Square, you would desist from filling the minds of my pupils with such antichristian stuff; for the consequence must be, while they are under my care, its being well scourged out of them again. There is your disciple Tom almost spoiled already. I overheard him the other day disputing with Master Blifil, that there was no merit in faith without works. I know that is one of your tenets, and I suppose he had it from you." "Don't accuse me of spoiling him," says Square. "Who taught him to laugh at whatever is virtuous and decent, and fit and right in the nature of things? He is your own scholar, and I disclaim him. No, no, Master Blifil is my boy. Young as he is, that lad's notions of moral rectitude I defy you ever to eradicate."

66

Thwackum put on a contemptuous sneer at this, and replied, Ay, ay, I will venture him with you. He is too well grounded for all your philosophical cant to hurt. No, no, I have taken care to instil such principles into him"

"And I have instilled principles into him too," cries Square. "What but the sublime idea of virtue could inspire a human mind with the generous thought of giving liberty? And I repeat to you again, if it was a fit thing to be proud, I might claim the honour of having infused that idea."

"And if pride was not forbidden," said Thwackum, "I might boast of having taught him that duty, which he himself assigned as his motive."

"So, between you both," says the squire, "the young gentleman hath been taught to rob my daughter of her bird? I find I must take care of my partridge mew. I shall have some virtuous religious man or other set all my partridges at liberty." Then slapping a gentleman of the law, who was present, on the back, he cried out, "What say you to this, Mr Counsellor? Is not this against law?”

The lawyer with great gravity delivered himself as follows:

"If the case be put of a partridge, there can be no doubt but an action would lie; for though this be feræ naturæ, yet being reclaimed, property vests; but being the case of a singing bird, though reclaimed, as it is a thing of base nature, it must be considered as nullius in bonis. In this case, therefore, I conceive the plaintiff must be nonsuited; and I should disadvise the bringing any such action."

"Well," says the squire, "if it be nullus bonus, let us drink about, and talk a little of the state of the nation, or some such discourse that we all understand; for I am sure I don't understand a word of this. It may be learning and sense, for aught I know; but you shall never persuade me into it. Pox! you have neither of you mentioned a word of that poor lad who deserves to be commended: to venture breaking his neck to oblige my girl, was a generous-spirited action: I have learning enough to see that. D-n me, here's Tom's health. I shall love the boy for it the longest day I have to live."

Thus was the debate interrupted; but it would probably have been soon resumed, had not Mr Allworthy presently called for his coach, and carried off the two combatants.

Such was the conclusion of this adventure of the bird, and of the dialogue occasioned by it, which we could not help recounting to our reader, though it happened some years before that stage, or period of time, at which our history is now arrived.

CHAP. V.

Containing matter accommodated to every taste.

"Parva leves capiunt animos-Small things affect light minds," was the sentiment of a great master of the passion of love. And certain it is, that from this day Sophia began to have some little kindness for Tom Jones, and no little aversion for his companion.

Many accidents from time to time improved both these passions in her breast, which, without our recounting, the reader may well conclude, from what we have before hinted of the different tempers of these lads, and how much the one suited with her own inclinations more than the other. To say the truth, Sophia, when very young, discerned that Tom, though an idle, thoughtless, rattling rascal, was nobody's enemy but his own; and that Master Blifil, though a prudent, discreet, sober, young gentleman, was, at the same time, strongly attached to the interest only of one single person; and who that single person was, the reader will be able to divine without any assistance of ours.

These two characters are not always received in the world with the different regard which seems severally due to either; and which, one would imagine, mankind, from self-interest, should show towards them. But perhaps there may be a political reason for it: in finding one of a truly benevolent disposition, men may very reasonably suppose they have found a treasure, and be desirous of keeping it, like all other good things, to themselves. Hence they may imagine, that to trumpet forth the praises of such a person, would, in the vulgar phrase, be crying roast-meat; and calling in partakers of what they intend to apply solely to their own use. If this reason does not satisfy the reader, I know no other means of accounting for the little respect which I have commonly seen paid to a character which really does great honour to human nature, and is productive of the highest good to society. But it was otherwise with Sophia. She honoured Tom Jones, and scorned Master Blifil, almost as soon as she knew the meaning of those two words.

Sophia had been absent upwards of three years with her aunt, during all which time she had seldom seen either of these young gentlemen. She dined, however, once, together with her aunt, at Mr Allworthy's. This was a few days after the adventure of the partridge, before commemorated. Sophia heard the whole story at table, where she said nothing; nor indeed could her aunt get many words from her as she returned home; but her maid, when undressing her, happening to say, "Well, miss, I suppose you have seen young Master Blifil to-day," she answered with much passion, "I hate the name

of Master Blifil as I do whatever is base and treacherous; and I wonder Mr Allworthy would suffer that old barbarous schoolmaster to punish a poor boy so cruelly for what was only the effect of his good-nature."-She then recounted the story to her maid, and concluded with saying, "Don't you think he is a boy of a noble spirit?"

This young lady was now returned to her father, who gave her the command of his house, and placed her at the upper end of his table, where Tom (who, for his great love of hunting, was become a great favourite of the squire) often dined. Young men of open, generous dispositions are naturally inclined to gallantry, which, if they have good understandings, as was in reality Tom's case, exerts itself in an obliging, complaisant behaviour to all women in general. This greatly distinguished Tom from the boisterous brutality of mere country squires on the one hand, and from the solemn, and somewhat sullen deportment of Master Blifil on the other; and he began now, at twenty, to have the name of a pretty fellow, among all the women in the neighbourhood.

Tom behaved to Sophia with no particularity, unless, perhaps, by shewing her a higher respect than he paid to any other. This distinction her beauty, fortune, sense, and amiable carriage, seemed to demand: but as to design upon her person he had none; for which we shall at present suffer the reader to condemn him of stupidity; but perhaps we shall be able indifferently well to account for it hereafter.

Sophia, with the highest degree of innocence and modesty, had a remarkable sprightliness in her temper. This was so greatly increased whenever she was in company with Tom, that, had he not been very young and thoughtless, he must have observed it; or had not Mr Western's thoughts been generally either in the field, the stable, or the dog-kennel, it might have, perhaps, created some jealousy in him: but so far was the good gentleman from entertaining any such suspicions, that he gave Tom every oppor tunity with his daughter which any lover could have wished. And this Tom innocently improved to better advantage, by following only the dictates of his natural gallantry and goodnature, than he might, perhaps, have done, had he had the deepest designs on the young lady.

But, indeed, it can occasion little wonder, that this matter escaped the observation of others, since poor Sophia herself never remarked it; and her heart was irretrievably lost before she suspected it was in danger.

Matters were in this situation, when Tom one afternoon, finding Sophia alone, began, after a short apology, with a very serious face, to acquaint her, that he had a favour to ask of her, which he hoped her goodness would comply with.

Though neither the young man's behaviour, nor indeed his manner of opening this business,

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