wards her? As to my cousin Sophia, I can't imagine her to be such a simpleton as to have the least scruple on such an account, or to conceive any harm in punishing one of these hags for the many mischiefs they bring upon families, by their tragi-comic passions; for which I think it is pity they are not punishable by law. I had no such scruple myself; and yet I hope my cousin Sophia will not think it an affront, when I say she cannot detest every real species of falsehood more than her cousin Fitzpatrick. To my aunt indeed I pretend no duty, nor doth she deserve any. However, sir, I have given you my advice, and if you decline pursuing it, I shall have the less opinion of your understand ing-that's all."

Jones now clearly saw the error he had committed, and exerted his utmost power to rectify it; but he only faultered and stuttered into nonsense and contradiction. To say the truth, it is often safer to abide by the consequences of the first blunder, than to endeavour to rectify it; for by such endeavours we generally plunge ourselves deeper, instead of extricating ourselves; and few persons will, on such occasions, have the good nature which Mrs Fitzpatrick displayed to Jones, by saying, with a smile, "You need attempt no more excuses; for I can easily forgive a real lover, whatever is the effect of fondness for his mistress."

She then renewed her proposal, and very fervently recommended it, omitting no argument which her invention could suggest on the subject; for she was so violently incensed against her aunt, that scarce any thing was capable of affording her equal pleasure with exposing her; and, like a true woman, she would see no difficulties in the execution of a favourite scheme.

Jones, however, persisted in declining the undertaking, which had not indeed the least probability of success. He easily perceived the motives which induced Mrs Fitzpatrick to be so eager in pressing her advice. He said, he would not deny the tender and passionate regard he had for Sophia; but was so conscious of the inequality of their situations, that he could never flatter himself so far as to hope that so divine a young lady would condescend to think on so unworthy a man; nay, he protested he could scarce bring himself to wish she should. He concluded with a profession of generous sentiments, which we have not at present leisure to insert.

There are some fine women (for I dare not here speak in too general terms) with whom self is so predominant, that they never detach it from any subject; and as vanity is with them a ruling principle, they are apt to lay hold of whatever praise they meet with; and, though the property of others, convey it to their own

use.

In the company of these ladies it is impossible to say any thing handsome of another woman, which they will not apply to them

1

selves; nay, they often improve the praise they seize; as, for instance, if her beauty, her wit, her gentility, her good-humour, deserve so much commendation, what do I deserve who possess those qualities in so much more eminent a degree?

To these ladies a man often recommends himself while he is commending another woman; and while he is expressing ardour and generous sentiments for his mistress, they are considering what a charming lover this man would make to them, who can feel all this tenderness for an inferior degree of merit. Of this, strange as it may seem, I have seen many instances besides Mrs Fitzpatrick, to whom all this really happened, and who now began to feel a somewhat for Mr Jones, the symptoms of which she much sooner understood than poor Sophia had formerly done.

To say the truth, perfect beauty in both sexes is a more irresistible object than it is generally thought: for, notwithstanding some of us are contented with more homely lots, and learn by rote (as children are to repeat what gives them no idea) to despise outside, and to value more solid charms, yet I have always observed at the approach of consummate beauty, that these more solid charms only shine with that kind of lustre which the stars have after the rising of the sun.

When Jones had finished his exclamations, many of which would have become the mouth of Oroondates himself, Mrs Fitzpatrick heaved a deep sigh, and taking her eyes off from Jones, on whom they had been some time fixed, and dropping them on the ground, she cried, "Indeed, Mr Jones, I pity you; but it is the curse of such tenderness to be thrown away on those who are insensible of it. I know my cousin better than you, Mr Jones, and I must say, any woman who makes no return to such a passion, and such a person, is unworthy of both.”

"Sure, madam," said Jones," you can't mean"

"Mean!" cries Mrs Fitzpatrick, "I know not what I mean. There is something, I think, in true tenderness, bewitching; few women ever meet with it in men, and fewer still know how to value it when they do. I never heard such truly[noble sentiments; and, I can't tell how it is, but you force one to believe you. Sure she must be the most contemptible of women who can overlook such merit."

The manner and look with which all this was spoke, infused a suspicion into Jones, which we don't care to convey in direct words to the reader. Instead of making any answer, he said, "I am afraid, madam, I have made too tiresome a visit," and offered to take his leave.

"Not at all, sir," answered Mrs Fitzpatrick. "Indeed I pity you, Mr Jones; indeed I do: but if you are going, consider of the scheme I have mentioned. I am convinced you will approve it, and let me see you again as soon as you can.-To-morrow morning if you will, or at

least some time to-morrow. I shall be at home all day."

Jones then, after many expressions of thanks, very respectfully retired; nor could Mrs Fitzpatrick forbear making him a present of a look at parting, by which, if he had understood nothing, he must have had no understanding in the language of the eyes. In reality, it confirmed his resolution of returning to her no more; for, faulty as he hath hitherto appeared in this history, his whole thoughts were now so confined to his Sophia, that, I believe, no woman upon earth could now have drawn him into an act of inconstancy.

Fortune, however, who was not his friend, resolved, as he intended to give her no second opportunity, to make the best of this; and, accordingly, produced the tragical incident which we are now in sorrowful notes to record.

CHAP. X.

The consequence of the preceding visit.

MR FITZPATRICK having received the letter before mentioned from Mrs Western, and being, by that means, acquainted with the place to which his wife was retired, returned directly to Bath, and thence the next day after set forward to London.

The reader hath been already often informed of the jealous temper of this gentleman. He may likewise be pleased to remember the suspicion which he had conceived of Jones at Upton, upon his finding him in the room with Mrs Waters; and though sufficient reasons had afterwards appeared entirely to clear up that suspicion, yet now, the reading so handsome a character of Mr Jones from his wife, caused him to reflect, that she likewise was in the inn at the same time; and jumbled together such a confusion of circumstances in a head which was naturally none of the clearest, that the whole produced that green-eyed monster mentioned by Shakespeare in his tragedy of Othello.

And now, as he was enquiring in the street after his wife, and had just received directions to the door, unfortunately Mr Jones was issuing from it.

Fitzpatrick did not yet recollect the face of Jones; however, seeing a young well-dressed fellow coming from his wife, he made directly up to him, and asked him what he had been doing in that house: "for I am sure,” said he, "you must have been in it, as I saw you come out of it."

Jones answered very modestly, "That he had been visiting a lady there." To which Fitzpatrick replied, "What business have you with the lady?" Upon which Jones, who now perfectly remembered the voice, features, and, indeed, coat, of the gentleman, cried out,-"Ha!

my good friend! give me your hand; I hope there is no ill blood remaining between us, upon a small mistake which happened so long ago."

"Upon my soul, sir," said Fitzpatrick, "I don't know your name, nor your face."-" Indeed, sir," said Jones, "neither have I the pleasure of knowing your name, but your face I very well remember to have seen before at Upton, where a very foolish quarrel happened between us, which, if it is not made up yet, we will now make up over a bottle.” "Ha! upon

"At Upton!" cried the other. my soul, I believe your name is Jones."-" Indeed," answered he, “it is."—" O, upon my soul," cries Fitzpatrick, "you are the very man I wanted to meet. Upon my soul, I will drink a bottle with you presently; but first I will give you a great knock over the pate. There is for you, you rascal. Upon my soul, if you do not give me satisfaction for that blow, I will give you another." And then drawing his sword, puts himself in a posture of defence, which was the only science he understood.

Jones was a little staggered by the blow, which came somewhat unexpectedly; but presently recovering himself, he also drew; and though he understood nothing of fencing, pressed on so boldly upon Fitzpatrick, that he beat down his guard, and sheathed one half of his sword in the body of the said gentleman, who had no sooner received it, than he stept backwards, dropt the point of his sword, and leaning upon it, cried, "I have satisfaction enough; I am a dead man."

"I hope not," cries Jones; "but whatever be the consequence, you must be sensible you have drawn it upon yourself." At this instant a number of fellows rushed in and seized Jones, who told them, he should make no resistance, and begged some of them at least would take care of the wounded gentleman.

"Ay," cries one of the fellows, "the wounded gentleman will be taken care enough of; for I suppose he hath not many hours to live. As for you, sir, you have a month at least good yet."

"D-n me, Jack," said another," he hath prevented his voyage; he's bound to another port now ;" and many other such jests was our poor Jones made the subject of by these fellows, who were indeed the gang employed by Lord Fellamar, and had dogged him into the house of Mrs Fitzpatrick, waiting for him at the corner of the street when this unfortunate accident happened.

The officer who commanded this gang very wisely concluded, that his business was now to deliver his prisoner into the hands of the civil magistrate. He ordered him, therefore, to be carried to a public-house, where having sent for a constable, he delivered him to his custody.

The constable seeing Mr Jones very well drest, and hearing that the accident had happened in a duel, treated his prisoner with great civility, and, at his request, dispatched a messenger to

enquire after the wounded gentleman, who was now at a tavern, under the surgeon's hands. The report brought back was, that the wound was certainly mortal, and there were no hopes of life. Upon which the constable informed Jones, that he must go before a justice. He answered, "Wherever you please: I am indifferent as to what happens to me; for though I am convinced I am not guilty of murder in the eye of the law, yet the weight of blood I find intolerable upon my mind."

Jones was now conducted before the justice, where the surgeon who dressed Mr Fitzpatrick appeared, and deposed, that he believed the wound to be mortal; upon which the prisoner was committed to the Gatehouse. It was very late at night, so that Jones would not send for Partridge till the next morning; and as he never shut his eyes till seven, so it was near twelve before the poor fellow, who was greatly frightened at not hearing from his master so long, received a message, which almost deprived him of his being when he heard it.

He went to the Gatehouse with trembling knees, and a beating heart, and was no sooner arrived in the presence of Jones, than he lamented the misfortune that had befallen him with many tears, looking all the while frequently about him in great terror: for, as the news now arrived that Mr Fitzpatrick was dead, the poor fellow apprehended every minute that his ghost

would enter the room. At last he delivered him a letter, which he had like to have forgot, and which came from Sophia by the hands of Black George.

Jones presently dispatched every one out of the room, and, having eagerly broke open the letter, read as follows:

"You owe the hearing from me again to an accident which I own surprises me. My aunt hath just now shewn me a letter from you to Lady Bellaston, which contains a proposal of marriage. I am convinced it is your own hand; and what more surprises me is, that it is dated at the very time when you would have me imagine you was under such concern on my account. I leave you to comment on this fact. All I desire is, that your name may never more be mentioned to S. W."

Of the present situation of Mr Jones's mind, and of the pangs with which he was now tormented, we cannot give the reader a better idea, than by saying, his misery was such, that even Thwackum would almost have pitied him. But, bad as it is, we shall at present leave him in it, as his good genius (if he really had any) seems to have done. And here we put an end to the Sixteenth Book of our history.

CHAP. I.

Containing a portion of introductory writing.

WHEN a comic writer hath made his principal characters as happy as he can, or when a tragic writer hath brought them to the highest pitch of human misery, they both conclude their business to be done, and that their work is come to a period.

Had we been of the tragic complexion, the reader must allow we were very nearly arrived at this period; since it would be difficult for the devil, or any of his representatives on earth, to have contrived much greater torments for poor Jones, than those in which we left him in the last chapter; and as for Sophia, a good-natured

woman would hardly wish more uneasiness to a rival than what she must at present be supposed to feel. What, then, remains to complete the tragedy, but a murder or two, and a few moral sentences?

But to bring our favourites out of their present anguish and distress, and to land them at last on the shore of happiness, seems a much harder task; a task, indeed, so hard, that we do not undertake to execute it. In regard to Sophia, it is more than probable that we shall, somewhere or other, provide a good husband for her in the end, either Blifil, or my lord, or somebody else: but as to poor Jones, such are the calamities in which he is at present involved, owing to his imprudence, by which, if a man doth not become a felon to the world, he is at least a felo de se ; so destitute is he now of friends, and so perse cuted by enemies, that we almost despair of bring

only serve, if that were possible, to heighten my resentment against him: for I must tell you, Mrs Miller, the young man who now stands before you, hath ever been the warmest advocate for the ungrateful wretch whose cause you espouse. This, I think, when you hear it from my own mouth, will make you wonder at so much base ness and ingratitude."

"You are deceived, sir," answered Mrs Miller; "if they were the last words which were to issue from my lips, I would say you were deceived; and, I once more repeat it, the Lord forgive those who have deceived you. I do not pretend to say the young man is without faults; but they are the faults of wildness and of youth: faults which he may, nay, which I am certain he will relinquish; and, if he should not, they are vastly overbalanced by one of the most humane, tender, honest hearts, that ever man was blessed with."

"Indeed, Mrs Miller," said Allworthy, "had this been related of you, I should not have believed it."-" Indeed, sir," answered she, "you will believe every thing I have said, I am sure you will; and when you have heard the story which I shall tell you, (for I will tell you all,) you will be so far from being offended, that you will own (I know your justice so well) that I must have been the most despicable, and most ungrateful of wretches, if I had acted any other part than I have."

"Well, madam," said Allworthy, "I shall be very glad to hear any good excuse for a behaviour which, I must confess, I think wants an excuse. And now, madam, will you be pleased to let my nephew proceed in his story without interruption. He would not have introduced a matter of slight consequence with such a preface. Perhaps even this story will cure you of your mistake."

Mrs Miller gave tokens of submission, and then Mr Blifil began thus: "I am sure, sir, if you don't think proper to resent the ill usage of Mrs Miller, I shall easily forgive what affects me only. I think your goodness hath not deserved this indignity at her hands."-" Well, child," said Allworthy, "but what is this new instance? what hath he done of late?"-" What," cries Blifil," notwithstanding all Mrs Miller hath said, I am very sorry to relate, and what you should never have heard from me, had it not been a matter impossible to conceal from the whole world; in short, he hath killed a man; I will not say murdered,-for perhaps it may not be so construed in law, and I hope the best for his sake."

Allworthy looked shocked, and blessed himself; and then, turning to Mrs Miller, he cried, "Well, madam, what say you now?"

Why, I say, sir," answered she, "that I never was more concerned at any thing in my life; but, if the fact be true, I am convinced the nan, whoever he is, was in fault. Heaven knows

there are many villains in this town, who make it their business to provoke young gentlemen. Nothing but the greatest provocation could have tempted him; for, of all the gentlemen I ever had in my house, I never saw one so gentle, or so sweet tempered. He was beloved by every one in the house, and every one who came near it."

While she was thus running on, a violent knocking at the door interrupted the conversation, and prevented her from proceeding further, or from receiving any answer; for, as she concluded this was a visitor to Mr Allworthy, she hastily retired, taking with her her little girl, whose eyes were all over blubbered at the melancholy news she heard of Jones, who used to call her his little wife, and not only gave her many play-things, but spent whole hours in playing with her himself.

Some readers may, perhaps, be pleased with these minute circumstances, in relating of which we follow the example of Plutarch, one of the best of our brother historians; and others, to whom they may appear trivial, will, we hope, at least pardon them, as we are never prolix on such occasions.

CHAP. III.

The arrival of Mr Western, with some matters concerning the paternal authority.

MRS MILLER had not long left the room, when Mr Western entered; but not before a small wrangling bout had passed between him and his chairmen; for the fellows, who had taken up their burden at the Hercules Pillars, had conceived no hopes of having any future good customer in the squire; and they were, moreover, farther encouraged by his generosity (for he had given them, of his own accord, sixpence more than their fare); they therefore very boldly demanded another shilling, which so provoked the squire, that he not only bestowed many hearty curses on them at the door, but retained his anger after he came into the room; swearing that all the Londoners were like the court, and thought of nothing but plundering country gentlemen. "D-n me," says he, "if I won't walk in the rain rather than get into one of their hand-barrows again. They have jolted me more in a mile, than Brown Bess would in a long fox-chace."

When his wrath on this occasion was a little appeased, he resumed the same passionate tone on another. "There," says he, "there is fine business forwards now. The hounds have changed at last; and when we imagined we had a fox to deal with, od-rat-it, it turns out to be a badger at last."

"Pray, my good neighbour," said Allworthy, "drop your metaphors, and speak a little plainer."-"Why then," says the squire," to tell you