ture their necks to escape the threatening fury now coming upon them:

So trembled poor Sophia, so turned she pale at the noise of her father, who in a voice most dreadful to hear, came on swearing, cursing, and vowing the destruction of Jones. To say the truth, I believe the youth himself would, from some prudent considerations, have preferred another place of abode at this time, had his terror on Sophia's account given him liberty to reflect a moment on what any otherwise concerned himself, than as his love made him partake whatever affected her.

And now the squire having burst open the door, beheld an object which instantly suspended all his fury against Jones; this was the ghastly appearance of Sophia, who had fainted away in her lover's arms. This tragical sight Mr Western no sooner beheld, than all his rage forsook him he roared for help with his utmost violence; ran first to his daughter, then back to the door, calling for water, and then back again to Sophia, never considering in whose arms she then was, nor perhaps once recollecting that there was such a person in the world as Jones: for, indeed, I believe, the present circumstances of his daughter were now the sole consideration which employed his thoughts.

Mrs Western and a great number of servants soon came to the assistance of Sophia, with water, cordials, and every thing necessary on those occasions. These were applied with such success, that Sophia in a very few minutes began to recover, and all the symptoms of life to return. Upon which she was presently led off by her own maid and Mrs Western; nor did that good lady depart without leaving some wholesome admonitions with her brother, on the dreadful effects of his passion, or, as she pleased to call it, madness.

The squire, perhaps, did not understand this good advice, as it was delivered in obscure hints, shrugs, and notes of admiration; at least, if he did understand it, he profited very little by it: for no sooner was he cured of his immediate fears for his daughter, than he relapsed into his for mer frenzy, which must have produced an immediate battle with Jones, had not Parson Supple, who was a very strong man, been present, and by mere force restrained the squire from acts of hostility.

The moment Sophia was departed, Jones advanced in a very suppliant manner to Mr Western, whom the parson held in his arms, and begged him to be pacified, for that, while he continued in such a passion, it would be impossible to give him any satisfaction.

"I wull have satisfaction o'thee," answered the squire," so d'off thy clothes. At unt half a man, and I'll lick thee as well as wast ever licked in thy life." He then bespattered the youth with abundance of that language which passes between country gentlemen who embrace opposite sides

of the question; with frequent applications to him to salute that part which is generally introduced into all controversies that arise among the lower orders of the English gentry, at horseraces, cock-matches, and other public places. Allusions to this part are likewise often made for the sake of the jest. And here, I believe, the wit is generally misunderstood. In reality it lies in desiring another to kiss your a―for having just before threatened to kick his: for I have observed very accurately, that no one ever desires you to kick that which belongs to himself, nor offers to kiss this part in another. It may likewise seem surprising, that in the many thousand kind invitations of this sort, which every one who hath conversed with county gentlemen must have heard, no one, I believe, hath ever seen a single instance where the desire has been complied with. A great instance of their want of politeness: for in town nothing can be more common than for the finest gentlemen to perform this ceremony every day to their superiors, without having that favour once requested of them.

To all such wit Jones very calmly answered, "Sir, this usage may, perhaps, cancel every other obligation you have conferred on me ; but there is one you can never cancel, nor will I be provoked by your abuse to lift my hand against the father of Sophia."

At these words the squire grew still more outrageous than before; so that the parson begged Jones to retire, saying, "You behold, sir, how he waxeth wroth at your abode here; therefore let me pray you not to tarry any longer. His anger is too much kindled for you to commune with him at present. You had better, therefore, conclude your visit, and refer what matters you have to urge in your behalf to some other opportunity."

Jones accepted this advice with thanks, and immediately departed. The squire now regained the liberty of his hands, and so much temper as to express some satisfaction in the restraint which had been laid upon him; declaring, that he should certainly have beat his brains out; and adding, "It would have vexed one confoundedly to have been hanged for such a rascal."

The parson now began to triumph in the success of his peace-making endeavours, and proceeded to read a lecture against anger, which might perhaps rather have tended to raise than to quiet that passion in some hasty minds. This lecture he enriched with many valuable quotations from the ancients, particularly from Seneca, who hath, indeed, so well handled this passion, that none but a very angry man can read him without great pleasure and profit. The doctor concluded this harangue with the famous story of Alexander and Clytus; but as I find that entered in my common-place under the title Drunkenness, I shall not insert it here.

The squire took no notice of this story, nor perhaps of any thing he said: for he interrupted him before he had finished, by calling for a tankard of beer; observing (which is perhaps as true as any observation on this fever of the mind) that anger makes a man dry.

No sooner had the squire swallowed a large draught than he renewed the discourse on Jones, and declared a resolution of going the next morning early to acquaint Mr Allworthy. His friend would have dissuaded him from this, from the mere motive of good nature; but his dissuasion had no other effect than to produce a large volley of oaths and curses, which greatly shocked the pious ears of Supple; but he did not dare to remonstrate against a privilege which the squire claimed as a free-born Englishman. To say truth, the parson submitted to please his palate at the squire's table, at the expence of suffering now and then this violence to his ears. He contented himself with thinking he did not promote this evil practice, and that the squire would not swear an oath the less if he never entered within his gates. However, though he was not guilty of ill manners, by rebuking a gentleman in his own house, he paid him off obliquely in the pulpit; which had not, indeed, the good effect of working a reformation in the squire himself; yet it so far operated on his conscience, that he put the laws very severely in execution against others, and the magistrate was the only person in the parish who could swear with impunity.

CHAP. X.

In which Mr Western visits Mr Allworthy.

MR ALLWORTHY was now retired from breakfast with his nephew, well satisfied with the report of the young gentleman's successful visit to Sophia, (for he greatly desired the match, more on account of the young lady's character than of her riches,) when Mr Western broke abruptly in upon them, and without any ceremony began as follows.

"There, you have done a fine piece of work, truly. You have brought up your bastard to a fine purpose; not that I believe you have had any hand in it neither, that is, as a man may say, designedly; but there is a fine kettle of fish made on't up at our house."-" What can be the matter, Mr Western?" said Allworthy.-"O, matter enow of all conscience; my daughter has fallen in love with your bastard, that's all; but I won't gie her a hapenny, nor the twentieth part of a brass varden. I always thought what would become o' breeding up a bastard like a gentleman, and letting un come about to vok's houses. It's well vor un I could not get at un, I'd a lick'd un, I'd a spoil'd his catervauling, I'd a taught the son of a whore to meddle with meat for his master. He shan't ever have a morsel of meat

of mine, or a varden to buy it; if she will ha un, one smock shall be her portion. I'll sooner gie my estate to the zinking fund, that it may be sent to Hanover to corrupt our nation with."— "I am heartily sorry," cries Allworthy.-" Pox o' your sorrow," says Western, "it will do me abundance of good, when I have lost my only child, my poor Sophy, that was the joy of my heart, and all the hope and comfort of my age: but I am resolved I will turn her out o' doors; she shall beg and starve, and rot in the streets. Not one hapenny, not a hapenny shall she hae o' mine. The son of a bitch was always good at finding a hare sitting, and be rotted to'n; I little thought what puss he was looking after; but it shall be the worst he ever vound in his life. She shall be no better than carrion; the skin o' her is all he shall hae, and zu you may tell un."-" I am in amazement," cries Allwor thy, "at what you tell ine, after what passed between my nephew and the young lady no longer than yesterday.”— "Yes, sir," answered Western, "it was after what passed between your nephew and she that the whole matter came out. Mr Blifil there was no sooner gone than the son of a whore came lurching about the house. Little did I think, when I used to love him for a sportsman, that he was all the while a poaching after my daughter."-" Why, truly," says Allworthy, "I could wish you had not given him so many opportunities with her; and you will do me the justice to acknowledge, that I have always been averse to his staying so much at your house, though I own I had no suspicion of this kind."-"Why, zounds!" cries Western, "who could have thought it? What the devil had she to do wi'n? He did not come there a courting to her; he came there a hunting with me." But was it possible," says Allworthy, "that you should never discern any symptoms of love between them, when you have seen them so often together?"-" Never in my life, as I hope to be saved," cries Western. "I never so much as zeed him kiss her in all my life; and so far from courting her, he used rather to be more silent when she was in company than at any other time: and as for the girl, she was always less civil to'n than to any young man that came to the house. As to that matter, I am not more easy to be deceived than another; I would not have you think I am, neighbour."-Allworthy could scarce refrain laughter at this; but he resolved to do a violence to himself: for he perfectly well knew mankind; and had too much good breeding and good-nature to offend the squire in his present circumstances. He then asked Western, what he would have him do on this occasion. To which the other answered, that he would have him keep the rascal away from his house, and that he would go and lock up the wench; for he was resolved to make her marry Mr Blifil in spite of her teeth. He then shook Blifil by the hand, and swore he would

have no other son-in-law. Presently after which he took his leave, saying, his house was in such disorder, that it was necessary for him to make haste home, to take care his daughter did not give him the slip; and as for Jones, he swore, if he caught him at his house, he would qualify him to run for the gelding's plate.

When Allworthy and Blifil were again left together, a long silence ensued between them; all which interval the young gentleman filled up with sighs, which proceeded partly from disappointment, but more from hatred for the success of Jones was much more grievous to him than the loss of Sophia.

At length his uncle asked him what he was determined to do, and he answered in the following words: " Alas, sir, can it be a question what step a lover will take, when reason and passion point different ways? I am afraid it is too certain he will, in that dilemma, always follow the latter. Reason dictates to me to quit all thoughts of a woman who places her affections on another; my passion bids me hope she may, in time, change her inclinations in my favour. Here, however, I conceive an objection may be raised, which, if it could not fully be answered, would totally deter me from any farther pursuit. I mean the injustice of endeavouring to supplant another in a heart of which he seems already in possession; but the determined resolution of Mr Western shews, that in this case I shall, by so doing, promote the happiness of every party; not only that of the parent, who will thus be preserved from the highest degree of misery, but of both the others, who must be undone by this match. The lady, I am sure, will be undone in every sense; for, besides the loss of most part of her own fortune, she will be not only married to a beggar, but the little fortune which her father cannot withhold from her, will be squandered on that wench, with whom I know he yet converses. Nay, that is a trifle: for I know him to be one of the worst men in the world: for had my dear uncle known what I have hitherto endeavoured to conceal, he must have long since abandoned so profligate a wretch."-"How," said Allworthy, hath he done any thing worse than I already know? Tell me, I beseech you."-" No," replied Blifil," it is now past, and perhaps he may have repented of it."-"I command you on your duty," said Allworthy," to tell me what you mean.' "You know, sir," says Blifil, "I never disobeyed you; but I am sorry I mentioned it, since it may now look like revenge, whereas, I thank heaven, no such motive ever entered my heart; and if you oblige me to discover it, I must be his petitioner to you for forgiveness."-"I will have no conditions," answered Allworthy; "I think I have shewn tenderness enough towards him, and more perhaps than you ought to thank me for."- More indeed, I fear, than he deserved," cries Blifil; " for in the very day of your utmost danger, when myself and all the family

were in tears, he filled the house with riot and debauchery. He drank, and sung, and roared; and when I gave him a gentle hint of the indecency of his actions, he fell into a violent passion, swore many oaths, called me rascal, and struck me."-" How!" cries Allworthy, "did he dare to strike you ?"—" I am sure," cries Blifil, "I have forgiven him that long ago. I wish I could so easily forget his ingratitude to the best of benefactors; and yet even that I hope you will forgive him, since he must have certainly been possessed with the devil: for that very evening, as Mr Thwackum and myself were taking the air in the fields, and exulting in the good symptoms which then first began to discover themselves, we unluckily saw him engaged with a wench in a manner not fit to be mentioned. Mr Thwackum, with more boldness than prudence, advanced to rebuke him, when (I am sorry to say it) he fell upon the worthy man, and beat him so outrageously, that I wish he may have yet recovered the bruises. Nor was I without my share of the effects of his malice, while I endeavoured to protect my tutor; but that I have long forgiven; nay, I prevailed with Mr Thwackum to forgive him too, and not to inform you of a secret which I feared might be fatal to him. And now, sir, since I have unadvisedly dropped a hint of this matter, and your commands have obliged me to discover the whole, let me intercede with you for him."-" O child," said Allworthy, "I know not whether I should blame or applaud your goodness in concealing such villainy a moment: but where is Mr Thwackum? Not that I want any confirmation of what you say; but I will examine all the evidence of this matter, to justify to the world the example I am resolved to make of such a monster."

Thwackum was now sent for, and presently appeared. He corroborated every circumstance which the other had deposed; nay, he produced the record upon his breast, where the hand-writing of Mr Jones remained very legible in black and blue. He concluded with declaring to Mr Allworthy, that he should have long since informed him of this matter, had not Mr Blifil, by the most earnest interpositions, prevented him. "He is," says he, "an excellent youth; though such forgiveness of enemies is carrying the mat

ter too far."

In reality, Blifil had taken some pains to prevail with the parson, and to prevent the discovery at that time; for which he had many reasons. He knew that the minds of men are apt to be softened and relaxed from their usual severity by sickness. Besides, he imagined that if the story was told when the fact was so recent, and the physician about the house, who might have unravelled the real truth, he should never be able to give it the malicious turn which he intended. Again, he resolved to hoard up this business, till the indiscretion of Jones should

afford him some additional complaints; for he thought the joint weight of many facts falling upon him together, would be the most likely to crush him; and he watched therefore some such opportunity as that with which fortune had now kindly presented him. Lastly, by prevailing with Thwackum to conceal the matter for a time, he knew he should confirm an opinion of his friendship to Jones, which he had greatly laboured to establish in Mr Allworthy.

CHAP. XI.

A short chapter; but which contains sufficient matter to affect the good-natured reader.

It was Mr Allworthy's custom never to punish any one, not even to turn away a servant, in a passion. He resolved therefore to delay passing sentence on Jones till the afternoon.

The poor young man attended at dinner, as usual; but his heart was too much loaded to suffer him to eat. His grief too was a good deal aggravated by the unkind looks of Mr Allworthy; whence he concluded that Western had discovered the whole affair between him and Sophia: but as to Mr Blifil's story, he had not the least apprehension; for of much the greater part he was entirely innocent; and for the residue, as he had forgiven and forgotten it himself, so he suspected no remembrance on the other side. When dinner was over, and the servants depart ed, Mr Allworthy began to harangue. He set forth, in a long speech, the many iniquities of which Jones had been guilty, particularly those which this day had brought to light; and concluded, by telling him, that unless he could clear himself of the charge, he was resolved to banish him his sight for ever.

Many disadvantages attended poor Jones in making his defence; nay, indeed, he hardly knew his accusation for as Mr Allworthy, in recounting the drunkenness, &c. while he lay ill, out of modesty sunk every thing that related particularly to himself, which indeed principally constituted the crime, Jones could not deny the charge: his heart was, besides, almost broken already; and his spirits were so sunk, that he could say nothing for himself, but acknowledged the whole, and, like a criminal in despair, threw himself upon mercy; coneluding, that though he must own himself guilty of many follies and inadvertencies, he hoped he had done nothing to deserve what would be to him the greatest punishment in the world.

Allworthy answered, that he had forgiven him too often already, in compassion to his youth, and in hopes of his amendment: that he now found he was an abandoned reprobate, and

such as it would be criminal in any one to support and encourage. "Nay," said Mr Allworthy to him, " your audacious attempt to steal away the young lady calls upon me to justify my own character in punishing you. The world, who have already censured the regard I have shewn for you, may think, with some colour, at least, of justice, that I connive at so base and barbarous an action: an action of which you must have known my abhorrence; and which, had you any concern for my ease and honour, as well as for my friendship, you would never have thought of undertaking. Fy upon it, young man! indeed there is scarce any punishment equal to your crimes, and I can scarce think myself justifiable in what I am now going to bestow on you. However, as I have educated you like a child of my own, I will not turn you naked into the world. When you open this paper, therefore, you will find something which may enable you, with industry, to get an honest livelihood; but if you employ it to worse purposes, I shall not think myself obliged to supply you farther, being resolved, from this day forward, to converse no more with you on any account. I cannot avoid saying, there is no part of your conduct which I resent more than your ill treatment of that good young man, (meaning Blifil,) who hath behaved with so much tenderness and honour towards you."

These last words were a dose almost too bitter to be swallowed. A flood of tears now gushed from the eyes of Jones, and every faculty of speech and motion seemed to have deserted him. It was some time before he was able to obey Allworthy's peremptory commands of departing; which he at length did, having first kissed his hands, with a passion difficult to be affected, and as difficult to be described.

The reader must be very weak, if, when he considers the light in which Jones then appeared to Mr Allworthy, he should blame the rigour of his sentence: and yet all the neighbourhood, either from this weakness, or from some worse motive, condemned this justice and severity as the highest cruelty. Nay, the very persons who had before censured the good man for the kindness and tenderness shewn to a bastard, (his own, according to the general opinion,) now cried out as loudly against turning his own child out of doors. The women especially were unanimous in taking the part of Jones, and raised more stories on the occasion than I have room, in this chapter, to set down.

One thing must not be omitted, that in their censures on this occasion, none ever mentioned the sum contained in the paper which Allworthy gave Jones, which was no less than five hundred pounds; but all agreed that he was sent away pennyless, and some said, naked, from the house of his inhuman father.

CHAP. XII.

Containing love-letters, &c.

JONES was commanded to leave the house immediately, and told, that his clothes and every thing else should be sent to him whithersoever he should order them.

He accordingly set out, and walked above a mile, not regarding, and indeed scarce knowing, whither he went. At length a little brook obstructing his passage, he threw himself down by the side of it; nor could he help muttering with some little indignation, "Sure my father will not deny me this place to rest in."

Here he presently fell into the most violent agonies, tearing his hair from his head, and using most other actions which generally accompany fits of madness, rage, and despair.

When he had, in this manner, vented the first emotions of passion, he began to come a little to himself. His grief now took another turn and discharged itself in a gentler way, till he became at last cool enough to reason with his passion, and to consider what steps were proper to be taken in his deplorable condition.

And now the great doubt was, how to act with regard to Sophia. The thoughts of leaving her almost rent his heart asunder; but the consideration of reducing her to ruin and beggary still racked him, if possible, more; and if the violent desire of possessing her person could have induced him to listen one moment to this alternative, still he was by no means certain of her resolution to indulge his wishes at so high an expence. The resentment of Mr Allworthy, and the injury he must do his quiet, argued strongly against this latter; and lastly, the apparent impossibility of his success, even if he would sacrifice all these considerations to it, came to his assistance; and thus, honour at last, backed with despair, with gratitude to his benefactor, and with real love to his mistress, got the better of burning desire, and he resolved rather to quit Sophia than to pursue her to her

ruin.

It is difficult for any who have not felt, to conceive the glowing warmth which filled his breast on the first contemplation of this victory over his passion. Pride flattered him so agree ably, that his mind perhaps enjoyed perfect happiness: but this was only momentary; Sophia soon returned to his imagination, and allayed the joy of his triumph with no less bitter pangs than a good-natured general must feel, when he surveys the bleeding heaps at the price of whose blood he hath purchased his laurels; for thousands of tender ideas lay murdered before our

conqueror.

Being resolved, however, to pursue the paths of this giant Honour, as the gigantic poet Lee

VOL. I.

calls it, he determined to write a farewell-letter to Sophia; and accordingly proceeded to a house not far off, where, being furnished with proper materials, he wrote as follows:

"MADAM,

"WHEN you reflect on the situation in which I write, I am sure your good-nature will pardon any inconsistency or absurdity which my letter contains: for every thing here flows from a heart so full, that no language can express its dictates.

"I have resolved, madam, to obey your commands, in flying for ever from your dear, your lovely sight. Cruel indeed those commands are; but it is a cruelty which proceeds from Fortune, not from my Sophia. Fortune hath made it necessary, necessary to your preservation, to forget there ever was such a wretch as I am.

"Believe me, I would not hint all my sufferings to you, if I imagined they could possibly escape your ears. I know the goodness and tenderness of your heart, and would avoid giving you any of those pains which you always feel for the miserable. O let nothing, which you shall hear of my hard fortune, cause a moment's concern; for, after the loss of you, every thing is to me a trifle.

"O Sophia! it is hard to leave you; it is harder still to desire you to forget me; yet the sincerest love obliges me to both. Pardon my conceiving that any remembrance of me can give you disquiet; but if I am so gloriously wretched, sacrifice me every way to your relief. Think I never loved you; or think truly how little I deserve you; and learn to scorn me for a presumption which can never be too severely punished.—I am unable to say more-may guardian angels protect you for ever!"

He was now searching his pockets for his wax, but found none, nor indeed any thing else therein; for, in truth, he had, in his frantic disposition, tossed every thing from him, and among the rest his pocket-book, which he had received from Mr Allworthy, which he had never opened, and which now first occurred to his memory.

The house supplied him with a wafer for his present purpose, with which having sealed his letter, he returned hastily towards the brook side, in order to search for the things which he had there lost. In his way he met his old friend Black George, who heartily condoled with him on his misfortune: for this had already reached his ears, and indeed those of all the neighbourhood.

Jones acquainted the gamekeeper with his loss, and he as readily went back with him to the brook, where they searched every tuft of grass in the meadow, as well where Jones had not been, as where he had been; but all to no purpose, for they found nothing: for, indeed, though the things were then in the meadow,