ing unfortunately taken many months after with a quantity of game upon him, was obliged to make his peace with the squire, by becoming evidence against some poacher. And now Black George was pitched upon by him, as being a person already obnoxious to Mr Western, and one of no good fame in the country. He was, besides, the best sacrifice the higler could make, as he had supplied him with no game since; and, by this means, the witness had an opportunity of screening his better customers; for the squire, being charmed with the power of punishing Black George, whom a single transgression was sufficient to ruin, made no further enquiry. Had this fact been truly laid before Mr Allworthy, it might probably have done the gamekeeper very little mischief; but there is no zeal blinder than that which is inspired with the love of justice against offenders. Master Blifil had forgot the distance of the time. He varied likewise in the manner of the fact: and, by the hasty addition of the single letter S, he considerably altered the story; for he said that George had wired hares. These alterations might probably have been set right, had not Master Blifil unluckily insisted on a promise of secrecy from Mr Allworthy, before he revealed the matter to him; but, by that means, the poor game-keeper was condemned, without having any opportunity to defend himself; for as the fact of killing the hare, and of the action brought, were certainly true, Mr Allworthy had no doubt concerning the rest. Short-lived then was the joy of these poor people; for Mr Allworthy, the next morning, declared he had fresh reason, without assigning it, for his anger, and strictly forbade Tom to mention George any more; though, as for his family, he said, he would endeavour to keep them from starving; but as to the fellow himself, he would leave him to the laws, which nothing could keep him from breaking. Tom could by no means divine what had incensed Mr Allworthy; for of Master Blifil he had not the least suspicion. However, as his friendship was to be tired out by no disappointments, he now determined to try another method of preserving the poor game-keeper from ruin. Jones was lately grown very intimate with Mr Western. He had so greatly recommended himself to that gentleman, by leaping over fivebarred gates, and by other acts of sportsmanship, that the squire had declared Tom would certainly make a great man, if he had but sufficient encouragement. He often wished he had himself a son with such parts; and one day very _solemnly asserted at a drinking bout, that Tom should hunt a pack of hounds for a thousand pounds of his money, with any huntsman in the whole country. By such kind of talents he had so ingratiated himself with the squire, that he was a most welcome guest at his table, and a favourite companion in his sport: every thing which the squire held most dear, to wit, his guns, dogs, and horses, were now as much at the command of Jones, as if they had been his own. He resolved, therefore, to make use of this favour on behalf of his friend Black George, whom he hoped to introduce into Mr Western's family, in the same capacity in which he had before served Mr Allworthy. The reader, if he considers that this fellow was already obnoxious to Mr Western, and if he considers farther the weighty business by which that gentleman's displeasure had been incurred, will, perhaps, condemn this as a foolish and desperate undertaking; but if he should totally condemn young Jones on that account, he will greatly applaud him for strengthening himself with all imaginable interest on so arduous an oc casion. For this purpose, then, Tom applied to Mr Western's daughter, a young lady of about seventeen years of age, whom her father, next after those necessary implements of sport just before mentioned, loved and esteemed above all the world. Now, as she had some influence on the squire, so Tom had some little influence on her. But this being the intended heroire of this work, a lady with whom we ourselves are greatly in love, and with whom many of our readers will, probably, be in love too before we part, it is by no means proper she should make her appearance in the end of a Book. CHAP. I. BOOK IV. Containing the time of A Year. Containing four pages of paper. As truth distinguishes our writings from those idle romances which are filled with monsters, the productions not of Nature, but of distempered brains, and which have been therefore recommended by an eminent critic to the sole use of the pastry-cook; so, on the other hand, we would avoid any resemblance to that kind of history which a celebrated poet seems to think is no less calculated for the emolument of the brewer, as the reading it should be always attended with a tankard of good ale. Whilst History with her comrade ale, For as this is the liquor of modern historians, nay, perhaps their muse, if we may believe the opinion of Butler, who attributes inspiration to ale, it ought likewise to be the potation of their readers, since every book ought to be read with the same spirit, and in the same manner, as it is writ. Thus the famous author of Hurlo-. thrumbo told a learned bishop, that the reason his lordship could not taste the excellence of his piece was, that he did not read it with a fiddle in his hand; which instrument he himself had always had in his own when he composed it. That our work, therefore, might be in no danger of being likened to the labours of these historians, we have taken every occasion of interspersing through the whole sundry similies, descriptions, and other kind of poetical embellishments. These are, indeed, designed to supply the place of the said ale, and to refresh the mind, whenever those slumbers which in a long work are apt to invade the reader as well as the writer, shall begin to creep upon him. Without interruptions of this kind, the best narrative of plain matter of fact must overpower every reader; for nothing but the everlasting watchfulness, which Homer has ascribed only to Jove himself, can be proof against a newspaper of many volumes. We shall leave to the reader to determine with what judgment we have chosen the several occasions for inserting those ornamental parts of our work. Surely it will be allowed, that none could be more proper than the present; where we are about to introduce a considerable character on the scene; no less, indeed, than the heroine of this heroic, historical, prosaic poem. Here, therefore, we have thought proper to prepare the mind of the reader for her reception, by filling it with every pleasing image which we can draw from the face of nature. And for this method we plead many precedents. First, this is an art well known to, and much practised by, our tragic poets, who seldom fail to prepare their audience for the reception of their principal characters. Thus the hero is always introduced with a flourish of drums and trumpets, in order to rouse a martial spirit in the audience, and to accommodate their ears to bombast and fustian, which Mr Locke's blind man would not have grossly erred in likening to the sound of a trumpet. Again, when lovers are coming forth, soft music often conducts them on the stage, either to sooth the audience with the softness of the tender passion, or to lull and prepare them for that gentle slumber in which they will most probably be composed by the ensuing scene. And not only the poets, but the masters of these poets, the managers of play-houses, seem to be in this secret; for, besides the aforesaid kettle-drums, &c. which denote the hero's approach, he is generally ushered on the stage by a large troop of half a dozen scene-shifters; and how necessary these are imagined to his appearance, may be concluded from the following theatrical story. King Pyrrhus was at dinner at an alehouse bordering on the theatre, when he was summoned to go on the stage. The hero being unwilling to quit his shoulder of mutton, and as unwilling to draw on himself the indignation of Mr Wilks, (his brother manager,) for making the audience wait, had bribed these his harbingers to be out of the way. While Mr Wilks, therefore, was thundering out, "where are the carpenters to walk on before King Pyrrhus ?” that monarch very quietly eat his mutton, and the audience, however impatient, were obliged to entertain themselves with music in his absence. To be plain, I much question whether the po litician, who hath generally a good nose, hath not scented out somewhat of the utility of this practice. I am convinced that awful magistrate,. my lord mayor, contracts a good deal of that reverence which attends him through the year, by the several pageants which precede his pomp. Nay, I must confess, that even I myself, who am not remarkably liable to be captivated with show, have yielded not a little to the impressions of much preceding state. When I have seen a man strutting in a procession, after others whose business was only to walk before him, I have conceived a higher notion of his dignity, than I have felt on seeing him in a common situation. But there is one instance which comes exactly up to my purpose: this is the custom of sending on a basket-woman, who is to precede the pomp at a coronation, and to strew the stage with flowers, before great personages begin their procession. The ancients would certainly have invoked the goddess Flora for this purpose, and it would have been no difficulty for their priests or politicians to have persuaded the people of the real presence of the deity, though a plain mortal had 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 sun 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, 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 Allwor thy 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 cld, 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 Fight to liberty; nay, it is even unchristian; 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. 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 |