a case, and to come at once to my point, I am apt to conceive, that one reason why many English writers have totally failed in describing the manners of upper life, may possibly be, that in reality they know nothing of it.

This is a knowledge unhappily not in the power of many authors to arrive at. Books will give us a very imperfect idea of it; nor will the stage a much better: the fine gentleman formed upon reading the former, will almost always turn out a pedant, and he who forms himself upon the latter, a coxcomb.

Nor are the characters drawn from these models better supported. Vanbrugh and Congreve copied nature; but they who copy them draw as unlike the present age, as Hogarth would do if he was to paint a rout or a drum in the dresses of Titian and of Vandyke. In short, imitation here will not do the business. The picture must be after nature herself. A true knowledge of the world is gained only by conversation, and the manners of every rank must be seen in order to be known.

Now it happens that this higher order of mortals is not to be seen, like all the rest of the human species, for nothing, in the streets, shops, and coffee-houses; nor are they shewn, like the upper rank of animals, for so much a-piece. In short, this is a sight to which no persons are admitted, without one or other of these qualifica tions, viz. either birth or fortune; or what is equivalent to both, the honourable profession of a gamester. And, very unluckily for the world, persons so qualified very seldom care to take up on themselves the bad trade of writing; which is generally entered upon by the lower and poorer sort, as it is a trade which many think requires no kind of stock to set up with.

relish for pleasure, all is vanity and servile imitation. Dressing and cards, eating and drinking, bowing and curtseying, make up the business of their lives.

Some there are, however, of this rank, upon whom passion exercises its tyranny, and hurries them far beyond the bounds which decorum prescribes. Of these, the ladies are as much distinguished by their noble intrepidity, and a certain superior contempt of reputation, from the frail ones of meaner degree, as a virtuous woman of quality is, by the elegance and delicacy of her sentiments, from the honest wife of a yeoman or shopkeeper. Lady Bellaston was of this intrepid character; but let not my country readers conclude from her, that this is the general conduct of women of fashion, or that we meant to represent them as such. They might as well suppose, that every clergyman was represented by Thwackum, or every soldier by Ensign Northerton.

There is not, indeed, a greater error than that which universally prevails among the vulgar, who, borrowing their opinion from some ignorant satirist, have affixed the character of lewdness to these times. On the contrary, I am convinced there never was less of love-intrigue carried on among persons of condition than now. Our present women have been taught by their mothers to fix their thoughts only on ambition and vanity, and to despise the pleasures of love as unworthy their regard; and being afterwards, by the care of such mothers, married without having husbands, they seem pretty well confirmed in the justness of those sentiments: whence they content themselves, for the dull remainder of life, with the pursuit of more innocent, but, I am afraid, more childish amusements, the bare mention of which would ill suit with the dignity of this history. In my humble opinion, the true characteristic of the present Beau Monde is rather folly than vice, and the only epithet which it deserves is that of frivolous.

very great resource to a writer whose province is comedy, or that kind of novels which, like this I am writing, is of the comic class.

What Mr Pope says of women, is very applicable to most in this station; who are, indeed, so entirely made of form and affectation, that they have no character at all, at least, none which appears. I will venture to say, the highest life is much the dullest, and affords very little humour or entertainment. The various callings in lower spheres produce the great variety of humorous characters; whereas, here, except among the few who are engaged in the pursuit of ambition, and the fewer still who have a

CHAP. II.

tend Amours.

JONES had not been long at home before he received the following letter:

"I was never more surprised than when I found you was gone. When you left the room, I little imagined you intended to have left the house without seeing me again. Your beha viour is all of a piece; and convinces me how much I ought to despise a heart which can doat upon an idiot: though I know not whether I should not admire her cunning more than her simplicity. Wonderful, both! For though she

understood not a word of what passed between us, she yet had the skill, the assurance, the what shall I call it? to deny, to my face, that she knows you, or ever saw you before.-Was this a scheme laid between you? and, have you been base enough to betray me?-0, how I despise her, you, and all the world; but chiefly myself! for--I dare not write what I should afterwards run mad to read; but, remember, I can detest as violently as I have loved."

Jones had but little time given him to reflect on this letter, before a second was brought him from the same hand; and this, likewise, we shall set down in the precise words:

"When you consider the hurry of spirits in which I must have writ, you cannot be surprised at any expressions in my former note. Yet, perhaps, on reflection, they were rather too warm. At least, I would, if possible, think all owing to the odious playhouse, and to the impertinence of a fool, which detained me beyond my appointment. How easy is it to think well of those we love! Perhaps you desire I should think so.-I have resolved to see you to-night; so come to me immediately.

"P. S. I have ordered to be at home to none but yourself.

"P. S. Mr Jones will imagine I shall assist him in his defence; for, I believe, he cannot desire to impose on me more than I desire to impose on myself.

"P. S. Come immediately."

To the men of intrigue I refer the determination, whether the angry or the tender letter gave the greatest uneasiness to Jones. Certain it is, he had no violent inclination to pay any more visits that evening, unless to one single person. However, he thought his honour engaged; and had not this been motive sufficient, he would not have ventured to blow the temper of Lady Bellaston into that flame of which he had reason to think it susceptible, and of which he feared the consequence might be a discovery to Sophia, which he dreaded. After some discontented walks, therefore, about the room, he was preparing to depart, when the lady kindly prevented him, not by another letter, but by her own

presence.

She entered the room very disordered in her dress, and very discomposed in her looks, and threw herself into a chair; where, having recovered her breath, she said, " You see, sir, when women have gone one length too far, they will stop at none. If any person would have sworn this to me a week ago, I would not have believed it of myself."-" I hope, madam," said Jones, my charming Lady Bellaston will be as difficult to believe any thing against one who is so sensible of the many obligations she hath con

66

VOL. I.

ferred upon him."-" Indeed!" says she; "sensible of obligations! Did I expect to hear such cold language from Mr Jones?" -"Pardon me, my dear angel!" said he, " if, after the letters I have received, the terrors of your anger, though I know not how I have deserved it"- -"And have I then," says she, with a smile, so angry a countenance? Have I really brought a chiding face with me?"-" If there be honour in man," said he, "I have done nothing to merit your anger. You remember the appointment you sent me; I went in pursuance' -" I beseech you," cried she," do not run through the odious recital. Answer me but one question, and I shall be easy. Have you not betrayed my honour to her?"-Jones fell upon his knees, and began to utter the most violent protestations, when Partridge came dancing and capering into the room, like one drunk with joy, crying out, "She's found, she's found! Here, sir, here; she's here! Mrs Honour is upon the stairs."-" Stop her a moment," cries Jones: "Here, madam, step behind the bed; I have no other room, nor closet, nor place on earth, to hide you in. Sure never was so d-n'd an accident!"—" D-n'd, indeed!" said the lady, as she went to her place of concealment; and presently afterwards in came Mrs Honour. "Heyday!" says she, "Mr Jones, what's the matter? That impudent rascal, your servant, would scarce let me come up stairs. I hope he hath not the same reason to keep me from you as he had at Upton.—I suppose you hardly expected to see me; but you have certainly bewitched my lady. Poor, dear, young lady! To be sure, I love her as tenderly as if she was my own sister. Lord have mercy upon you, if you don't make her a good husband! and to be sure, if you do not, nothing can be bad enough for you." Jones begged her only to whisper, for that there was a lady dying in the next room.-" A lady!" cries she; "ay, I suppose one of your ladies. O, Mr Jones, there are too many of them in the world. I believe we are got into the house of one; for my Lady Bellaston, I darst to say, is no better than she should be."-" Hush, hush," cries Jones, "every word is overheard in the next room."-" I don't care a farthing," cries Honour, "I speaks no scandal of any one; but, to be sure, the servants make no scruple of saying, as how her ladyship meets men at another place, where the house goes under the name of a poor gentlewoman; but her ladyship pays the rent, and many's the good thing besides, they say, she hath of her."—Here Jones, after expressing the utmost uneasiness, offered to stop her mouth." Hey-day! Why sure, Mr Jones, you will let me speak; I speak no scandal, for I only says what I heard from others: and, thinks I to myself, much good may it do the gentlewoman with her riches, if she comes by it in such a wicked manner. To be sure it is better to be poor and honest."-" The 2 c

servants are villains," cries Jones, " and abuse their lady unjustly."-" Ay, to be sure, servants are always villains; and so my lady says, and won't hear a word of it."-"No, I am convinced," says Jones; "my Sophia is above listening to such base scandal."-" Nay, I believe it is no scandal neither," cries Honour; "for why should she meet men at another house? It can never be for any good; for, if she had a lawful design of being courted,-as, to be sure, any lady may lawfully give her company to men upon that account,-why, where can be the sense"- "I protest," cries Jones, "I can't hear all this of a lady of such honour, and a relation of Sophia; besides, you will distract the poor lady in the next room. Let me entreat you to walk with me down stairs."- Nay, sir, if you won't let me speak, I have done. Here, sir, is a letter from my young lady-what would some men give to have this? But, Mr Jones, I think you are not over and above generous; and yet I have heard some servants say-but, I am sure, you will do me the justice to own I never saw the colour of your money." Here Jones hastily took the letter, and, presently after, slipped five pieces into her hand. He then returned a thousand thanks to his dear Sophia in a whisper, and begged her to leave him to read her letter. She presently departed, not without expressing much grateful sense of his generosity.

Lady Bellaston now came from behind the curtain. How shall I describe her rage? Her tongue was at first incapable of utterance; but streams of fire darted from her eyes, and well indeed they might, for her heart was all in a flame. And now, as soon as her voice found way, instead of expressing any indignation against Honour or her own servants, she began to attack poor Jones. "You see," said she, "what I have sacrificed to you! my reputation, my honour,gone for ever! And what return have I found? Neglected, slighted for a country girl, for an idiot."-"What neglect, madam, or what slight," cries Jones, "have I been guilty of ?"-" Mr Jones," said she, "it is in vain to dissemble; if you will make me easy, you must entirely give her up; and as a proof of your intention, shew me the letter."-"What letter, madam?" said Jones. "Nay, surely," said she, "you cannot have the confidence to deny your having received a letter by the hands of that trollop?"-" And can your ladyship," cries he, "ask of me what I must part with my honour before I grant? Have I acted in such a manner by your ladyship? Could I be guilty of betraying this poor innocent girl to you, what security could you have that I should not act the same part by yourself? A moment's reflection will, I am sure, convince you, that a man with whom the secrets of a lady are not safe, must be the most contemptible of wretches."-" Very well," said she, "I need not insist on your becoming this con

temptible wretch in your own opinion; for the inside of the letter could inform me of nothing more than I know already. I see the footing you are upon."―Here ensued a long conversation, which the reader, who is not too curious, will thank me for not inserting at length. It shall suffice, therefore, to inform him, that Lady Bellaston grew more and more pacified, and, at length, believed, or affected to believe, his protestations-that his meeting with Sophia that evening was merely accidental, and every other matter which the reader already knows; and which, as Jones set before her in the strongest light, it is plain that she had in reality no rea son to be angry with him.

She was not, however, in her heart, perfectly satisfied with his refusal to shew her the letter; so deaf are we to the clearest reason, when it argues against our prevailing passions. She was, indeed, well convinced, that Sophia possessed the first place in Jones's affections; and yet, haughty and amorous as this lady was, she submitted, at last, to bear the second place; or, to express it more properly in a legal phrase, was contented with the possession of that of which another woman had the reversion.

It was at length agreed, that Jones should, for the future, visit at the house; for that Sophia, her maid, and all the servants, would place these visits to the account of Sophia; and that she herself would be considered as the person imposed upon.

This scheme was contrived by the lady, and highly relished by Jones, who was indeed glad to have a prospect of seeing his Sophia at any rate; and the lady herself was not a little pleased with the imposition on Sophia, which Jones, she thought, could not possibly discover to her for his own sake.

The next day was appointed for the first visit, and then, after proper ceremonials, the Lady Bellaston returned home.

CHAP. III.

Containing various Matters.

JONES was no sooner alone, than he eagerly broke open his letter, and read as follows:

"Sir, it is impossible to express what I have suffered since you left this house; and as I have reason to think you intend coming here again, I have sent Honour, though so late at night, as she tells me she knows your lodgings, to pre vent you. I charge you, by all the regard you have for me, not to think of visiting here; for it will certainly be discovered; nay, I almost doubt, from some things which have dropt from her ladyship, that she is not already without some suspicion. Something favourable, perhaps, may happen; we must wait with patience; but

I once more entreat, if you have any concern for my ease, do not think of returning hither."

This letter administered the same kind of consolation to poor Jones, which Job formerly received from his friends. Besides disappointing all the hopes which he promised to himself from seeing Sophia, he was reduced to an unhappy dilemma, with regard to Lady Bellaston; for there are some certain engagements, which, as he well knew, do very difficultly admit or any excuse for the failure; and to go, after the strict prohibition from Sophia, he was not to be forced by any human power. At length, after much deliberation, which during that night supplied the place of sleep, he determined to feign himself sick for this suggested itself as the only means of failing the appointed visit, without incensing Lady Bellaston, which he had more than one reason of desiring to avoid.

The first thing, however, which he did in the morning, was to write an answer to Sophia, which he inclosed in one to Honour. He then dispatched another to Lady Bellaston, containing the above mentioned excuse; and to this he soon received the following answer.

"I am vexed that I cannot see you here this afternoon, but more concerned for the occasion: take great care of yourself, and have the best advice, and I hope there will be no danger. I am so tormented all this morning with fools, that I have scarce a moment's time to write to you. Adieu.

"P. S. I will endeavour to call on you this evening at nine.-Be sure to be alone."

Mr Jones now received a visit from Mrs Miller, who, after some formal introduction, began the following speech." I am very sorry, sir, to wait upon you on such an occasion; but I hope you will consider the ill consequence which it must be to the reputation of my poor girls, if my house should once be talked of as a house of ill fame. I hope you won't think me therefore guilty of impertinence, if I beg you not to bring any more ladies in at that time of night. The clock had struck two before one of them went away."—"I do assure you, madam," said Jones, the lady who was here last night, and who staid the latest (for the other only brought me a letter,) is a woman of very great fashion, and my near relation."-I don't know what fashion she is of," answered Mrs Miller, "but I am sure no woman of virtue, unless a very near relation indeed, would visit a young gentleman at ten at night, and stay four hours in his room with him alone; besides, sir, the behaviour of her chairmen shews what she was; for they did nothing but make jests all the evening in the entry, and asked Mr Partridge, in the hearing of my own maid, if madam intended to stay with his mas

ter all night; with a great deal of stuff not proper to be repeated. I have really a great respect for you, Mr Jones, upon your own account; nay, I have a very high obligation to you for your generosity to my cousin. Indeed I did not know how very good you had been till lately. Little did I imagine to what dreadful courses the poor man's distress had driven him. Little did I think, when you gave me the ten guineas, that you had given them to a highwayman. O heavens! what goodness have you shewn! how have you preserved this family!-The character which Mr Allworthy hath formerly given me of you, was, I find, strictly true.—And indeed if I had no obligation to you, my obligations to him are such, that, on his account, I should shew you the utmost respect in my power.-Nay, believe me, dear Mr Jones, if my daughters and my own reputation were out of the case, I should, for your own sake, be sorry that so pretty a young gentleman should converse with these women; but if you are resolved to do it, I must beg you to take another lodging; for I do not myself like to have such things carried on under my roof; but more especially upon the account of my girls, who have little, Heaven knows, besides their characters, to recommend them."Jones started, and changed colour at the name of Allworthy. "Indeed, Mrs Miller," answered he, a little warmly, "I do not take this at all kind. I will never bring any slander on your house; but I insist on seeing what company I please in my own room; and if that gives you any offence, I shall, as soon as I am able, look for another lodging."-"I am sorry we must part then, sir," said she, "but I am convinced Mr Allworthy himself would never come within my doors, if he had the least suspicion of my keeping an ill house."-" Very well, madam," said Jones.-"I hope, sir," said she, "you are not angry; for I would not for the world offend any of Mr Allworthy's family. I have not slept a wink all night about this matter."—"I am sorry I have disturbed your rest, madam," said Jones, "but I beg you will send Partridge up to me immediately;" which she promised to do, and then, with a very low courtesy, retired.

As soon as Partridge arrived, Jones fell upon him in the most outrageous manner. "How often," said he, " am I to suffer for your folly, or rather for my own in keeping you? Is that tongue of yours resolved upon my destruction?"

"What have I done, sir?" answered affrighted Partridge.-" Who was it that gave you authority to mention the story of the robbery, or that the man you saw here was the person?”. "I, sir?" cries Partridge.-"Now don't be guilty of a falsehood in denying it," said Jones."If I did mention such a matter," answers Partridge, "I am sure I thought no harm: for I should not have opened my lips, if it had not been to his own friends and relations, who, I imagined, would have let it go no farther."